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THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


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"the story of 

A PLOUGHBOY 

BY TAMES BRYCE 

With An Introduction By Edwin Markham 








NEW YORK JOHN LANE COMPANY MCMXII 




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Introduction by Edwin Markham 
Copyright, 1912, by 
John Lane Company 


©CLA31J;305 ^ 


A Note of Introduction 


By EDWIN MARKHAM 
Author of^'The Man with the Hoe and Other Poems'^ 

“The Ploughboy” is a big story bearing the blood- 
prints of reality. It is a revelation of rural life in a 
nation counting itself the most cultured on the planet. 
Not the darker depths of a great city are more terrible in 
their yield of misery and penury than are these Scottish 
country scenes. 

The garden, the orchard, the dairy, the leafy lane, the 
ivied cot, do they not stand to us rosily romantic — the 
abode of peace and plenty and quiet poesy? But read the 
ploughboy’s record of the reality of today, and see how 
in this green and pleasant land (as in Emerson’s Monad- 
nock) the squalid peasant falls below the heroic grace 
that these sheltered haunts should produce. 

With relentless onrush, with a flash of pity and ter- 
ror, the story sweeps into our consciousness certain ter- 
rible facts of life. It dramatizes certain supreme issues 
of this time and of all times. Its vivid annals touch the 
heart and the spirit. 

When the sap rises into the trees under the immemo- 
rial surge of springtime, some occult sympathy causes 
the pent juices in the cellar vats to begin to ferment. 
There is today a spring-tide surging in the thinking 
world that is also causing a ferment even in the most 
obscure corners of all lands. 

Questions that were on the lips of Isaiah and of Jesus 
are "again troubling the hearts of the world, troubling 
those in high and those in lowly places. Wage-workers, 
dully rubbing their eyes, are asking, “Why do others 
reap where we sow, and seize where we create?” 
Writers and preachers, blinking at the light, are asking, 
“Why may we not speak as we think? What has set 
seals upon the thought of progressive mankind?” 

And the answer comes echoing, “Things, not souls, 
have become the aim of the masters of the world. Prop- 
ertv interests are holding mankind in a glacial clutch.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY. 


Strong men have come to believe that property, not 
humanity, is the one sacred thing below the skies. They 
forget that property is worth while only as a basis for 
the bread, the beauty and the brotherhood necessary to 
a complete life. 

But the ancient ice-pack is breaking. The genial cur- 
rents of the heart are beginning to touch the frozen 
shores of selfishness. Fair conditions of health, a share 
of leisure, a share of the common resources of nature, the 
resources needed to live a decent and dignified existence 
— these things the Twentieth Century is beginning to 
demand for all from the lords and masters of the land. 

“The Ploughboy’’ depicts the processional of Scottish 
farm-life with its ever-present sense of the long arm of 
the land-holder, an arm directing the fortunes of the 
workers, coercing their acts and speech, conditioning 
their personal conduct toward their neighbors; and 
through it all sounds an ^Fschylean note of the fate that 
shadoAvs our time — the might and the mercilessness of 
Property. 

This story is not a religious novel, in the sense that 
“Pilgrim’s Progress,” and “Robert Elsmere” are ; yet it 
contains a profound, spiritual revelation. For the hero, 
snatched up from the wriggling mire by a Setebos grab 
of chance and tempted in all ways as his comrades were, 
experiences religion in the terms of the new social 
morality of today — in a final and never-to-be-lost sense 
of the solidarity of mankind — the feeling that the neigh- 
bor should have the right to share life on equal terms 
with ourselves. 

To read this story that quivers with the pathos and 
the passion of life is to get a keener and kindlier vision 
of our mortal existence. Only in such books as Hamlin 
Garland’s “Main-Traveled Roads” and Querido’s “Toil 
of Men” do we get a similar unflinching realism and a 
similar sense of the deprivations and desperations of the 
men at the bottom of the human pyramid. 

But do not take it that “The Ploughboy” is a hope- 
less book. That this lad of the furrow could keep the 
gleam of ideality, could achieve the vision of the oneness 
of humanity — this avouches the presence and power of 
the principle of righteousness in the heart of man. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY. 

You find in this story threads of vivid interest, al- 
though I do not find to my liking the social cure sug- 
gested by the hero. I cannot see that the extreme sim- 
plicity of life proposed by Tolstoy is the path of escape 
out of our troubles. The way of deliverance is not in a 
return to the Adamic Paradise, with its one man alone 
in the garden; but rather in a pressing forward (taking 
with us all the riches we have acquired) determined to 
make foundations on the Earth for that holy city of 
fraternity revealed in the Apocalyptic vision of St. John. 

Edwin Markham 


Westerleigh Park, Staten Island 
February, 1912. 






















PART I 


Farm 


The 



The Story of a Ploughboy 

Told by Himself 


CHAPTER I 

I N boyhood I passed through the Valley of the Shadow, 
though above me shone a star. Let me speak of the 
darkness first. 

When I had served six months at Abbot's Mailing, 
Big Pate came at Martinmas as first ploughman. The moment 
I looked at him, my instinct read hate in his eyes. Ere twelve 
hours were over, I found it had given no idle warning. My 
morning duty was to drive the milk-cart into Craigkenneth, 
and I had to rise at five o'clock, half an hour earlier than the 
men. Florrie, who helped the mistress with the milking, 
wakened me by knocking on the bothy door. I slept with Big 
Pate, and on the morning after his arrival I had touched him 
when getting out of bed or he had been disturbed by Florrie's 
knock. He muttered some curses which I did not much heed. 
At midday, when I came over to the bothy after having my 
dinner in the farm-kitchen, the men had finished their meal 
and thrown themselves on their beds. My entrance made Pate 
raise himself on his elbow. 

" Ay, I've something to redd up wi' you," he began in deep 
growling tones. " Shut that door and come here." 

When I obeyed, he looked at me in silence for a while, his 
black eyes glaring beneath his bushy brows. I trembled 
already, and he went on, 

“ What the devil made ye wauken me this morning ? " 
and on my faltering out that I had not wakened him, " D’ye 
ca’ me a liar ? " he demanded loudly. " Fetch that auld 
helter," and he pointed to a rope that hung among the harness 
on the wall. Fear to obey, fear to refuse, were evenly matched ; 
I stood still, looking at him. " Oh, ye’ll no," he proceeded 

B 


2 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


calmly. Fll sune learn ye to dae what ye’re budden,” 
and he rolled himself out of bed, took down and uncoiled the 
rope. Without warning he brought it across my thighs. 

I gave a jump and a yell, and on his repeating the stroke 
I cried out, 

“ I’ll tell the master.” 

” Oh, ye will ? So ye’re a clype, ye shilpet beggar. Turn 
roon’ ; ” and he raised his hand again. 

Bob had risen in his bed and was looking on. 

” I say, Pate, that’s enough,” he began in expostulation ; 
but I felt at once from his voice that there was no hope from 
him. 

Pate’s answer was a scowl and a contemptuous wave of his 
left hand. With the halter in the right he lashed me again and 
again. I howled madly and he flogged on, cursing me the 
while. 

'‘Ye want to bring them frae the hoose wi’ yer yowlin’ ; I’ll 
learn ye a quaeter tune afore I’m dune. Will ye shut yer 
blasted mooth ? Will ye ? Will ye ? ” and when the strokes, 
falling as fast as he could draw them, had made me check my 
cries, he proceeded, ” Will ye fetch the halter noo ? Will ye ? 
Will ye ? ” and to get respite from the lashes that accompanied 
the questions I yelled, ” Ay, ay.” 

” Fetch it, then ; ” and he flung it over the peg. 

I took it down and gave it into his outstretched hand. 

” Turn aboot,” he ordered, and I was so utterly cowed that 
I obeyed at once. He laid on at the back, at the sides, in 
Iront, I turning as he bade, and when he was nearly exhausted 
he demanded, with a stroke at each question, 

” WiU ye ever wauken me again ? ” 

‘ No.” 

” And will ye aye dae what ye’re budden ? ” 

“ Ay, ay.” 

” And will ye dae’t at ance ? ” 

” Ay, ay.” 

” It’ll be as weel for ye. If ye dinna, d’ye ken what I’ll 
dae to ye ? D'ye ken ? ” he repeated fiercely, when I did not 


“I’ll tak’ ye this way,” and he brought his clenched hands 
together, “ and I’ll rive yer legs sindry.” 

I was like sinking on the floor with terror, and after he had 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


3 

gazed at me for a while he pointed to the peg as a sign that I 
was to restore the halter to its place. 

That afternoon we were spreading dung in the Cairn Park, 
which had been in oats and was to be ploughed for potatoes. 
Big Pate threw out the manure from the coups, Bob and I 
tedded. My legs and hips were so tender from the late thrash- 
ing that I could hardly bear my clothes touching them. I 
limped, in spite of all my efforts to walk steadily ; an onlooker 
would have taken me for a cripple. Pate eyed me from time 
to time and seemed to find a grim satisfaction in noting my 
frightened, tearful eyes, my constrained movements. No 
words of his were needed to keep me at my work : a glance was 
enough. Only once had he occasion to speak. When three 
persons are working as we were, one casting out the manure 
in large graipfuls which the others break up and spread, it is 
understood that each tedder keeps to his own side and so does 
just as much as his fellow. I was so stiff and sore that I began 
to lag, and Bob good-naturedly crossed to my side to help. 

“ Dae yer ain bit and let him dae his,” Pate admonished 
him the second time this happened ; “if he's no fit for his 
wark, he shouldna be here.” 

“ Please yersel',” was Bob’s reply, and for the rest of the 
afternoon I was left unaided. 

It was not easy to keep up with Big Pate. He was working, 
as he usually worked, at top speed, and Bob and I had not 
only to follow him closely but had also to do our task to his 
satisfaction. Manure must be tedded till no lump is left, 
every part of the field must have its share, and the contents 
of the coups must be so evenly spread at the fringes that it 
should be impossible to tell where one coup ends and its 
neighbour begins. A look, a movement of Pate’s made me 
jump to repair a fault as though I had been worked with a 
spring. 

We were sorting the horses in the evening. Besides attend- 
ing to the milk-cart pony, which stood in a loose-box in the 
boiler-house, I had to help with an odd horse, old Roy, in the 
stable. The first man and I usually took a side apiece when 
combing and brushing him. We were not long started when 
Pate, wanting more room to work, put his shoulder to the 
beast’s flank, lifted him off his near legs and threw him over 
on me, so that I should have been crushed against the wall had 
I not ducked. Again and again that night, whenever he 


4 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


wanted the horse shifted, he heaved him over with his shoulder. 

I was in terror, and could not attend to my work for watch- 
ng Pate's movements and trying to guard myself. Then he 
would lean over the horse and bring the brush across my head, 
cursing me for wasting time and keeping him from his 
supper. 

After supper the same evening I went over to the bothy to 
wash my face. I meant to go up to the Home Farm and 
consult Dan Martin, my butty — strange that the poorest 
wretch has a chum — in youth ! — and as the working-day was 
near its shortest I should have an hour with him before return- 
ing to look the pony at eight o’clock. Big Pate, I felt, had 
his eye on me while I was cleaning myself, and ere I was done 
he asked with an oath where I was bound for. 

“ The Hame Farm,” I faltered. 

” I'll find ye something better to dae. D’ye see thae dishes ? 
Wash them up, then, or I’ll wash you in the horse-pond. And 
if ye break a thing, by God ! I’ll break yer back.” 

Bob, who had been listening with interest, gave a laugh. 

” Dam ’t if I ever thocht o’ that or I micht hae made him 
dae 't lang syne.” 

Since I had come to Abbot’s Mailing, the two men in the 
bothy had done their own work, taking week about as cook 
and dish-washer. The task of cleaning-up was now to be left 
to me. 

It was useless to think of visiting Dannie till the horses 
were looked. After eight o’clock I limped away to the Home 
Farm. 

Dannie Martin was of my age and had been in farm service 
for the same time — six months. His parents, who lived in 
Fallowkirk, a town five miles east of us, were Irish, and it 
would be from them, I suppose, that he drew his quick wits 
and lively disposition. Both the grieve and the ploughman 
on the Home Farm were married men, and Dannie, though 
he got his meals in the grieve’s house, slept in a little cottage i 
that served as bothy for a forester, the estate-carter, and 
himself. All three were in, and after I had sat a little I ’made | 
signs to Dan that I wanted him to come outside. He stuck ! 
his cap on the back of his head, and as soon as we were on the I 
road, he lit up, for he liked to be seen smoking. I did the i 
same, though more for company’s sake ; then I hastened to , 
tell him of Big Pate’s cruelty. i 


THE STORY OF A PLOtlGHBOY 5 

“ There's no an inch o' me hut's marked frae the waist 
doon,” I concluded ; “ I’ll let ye see if ye like." 

When I had turned down my socks and pulled up my 
drawers, Dannie kept striking matches to examine the sores. 

" It’s just as if ye were burnin' me wi’ red-hot irons," I 
explained. " What wad ye advise me, Dannie ? " 

" Hoy-oy-oy ! " yelled my chum. 

It was his practice to give this yell before any lengthy 
utterance. This time he did not follow it up with words ; 
he stepped into the middle of the road and I could see him in 
the moonlight jumping about and sparring at an invisible 
antagonist. For a while he had been taking boxing lessons 
from Hendry, the forester, who had once been a policeman. 

" That’s nae use," I said hopelessly, inferring his answer 
from the pantomime. " Man, my hert goes oot o’ me the 
moment he gies me a look. Dannie, I see naething for ’t but 
to rin awa’." 

" Whaur tae ? " asked my butty in his ordinary tone, which 
was as loud and shrill as though he were calling to someone 
a field’s-breadth off. 

" I was thinking, Patagonia.” 

Dannie did not speak for a little. 

" That’s whaur auld Sam’l Eadie has a son," he said at last, 
referring to a shepherd up the moorlands. 

" The very same. It was that made me think o’t. Noo, 
here’s what I’ve been thinkin’ the day, Dannie. We micht 
watch for auld Sam’l gaun to the mart and ask him hoo young 
Sam’l got the job in Patagonia and if I wad hae ony chance." 

Dan kept silence still longer than before. 

" Hoy-oy-oy ! " he then began. " Ye're a bloomin' idiot, 
Jamie ; ye’re as blind as a moudie." 

" What way ? " 

" That's the very thing Pate wants — to drive ye awa’ frae 
the place." 

" Hoo that ? " I asked in surprise. 

" He’s feared auld Nick ’ll leave ye his siller ; and if ye rin 
awa’ he’ll be thinkin' to get the siller himsel’." 

Now, I was aware that Big Pate and I counted kin. He was 
nephew, I grand-nephew, to old Nicol Gow, our present master. 
But that interest had anything to do with his ill-usage of me 
had never been in my thoughts ; I had imagined that his 
antipathy was instinctive. 


6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


** I canna believe that/' I said, when I had got over my 
surprise. “ Naebody wad think it worth their while.” 

” You’ve nae een in yer heid,” said my friend ; ” but ither 
folk can see if you canna. Pate wants ye oot o’ that to mak* 
sure o’ the siller. And if I was you, I wad hing on just 
for spite, and if he meddled me I wad brain him wi’ a coulter.” 

This again, I felt, was beyond my courage, and I implored 
Dannie to keep watch for the old shepherd. My friend was 
quite willing ; he even suggested that if there was no other 
way of seeing old Eadie, the two of us might stroll up the moor- 
lands on the first free Sunday. This settled, Dannie turned 
the talk and in the same shrill but passionless tones — as in- 
different, seemingly, as if he had been speaking with an utter 
stranger — he discussed the topic most interesting to the 
countryside. The Maud Ploughing-match, the great event of 
the kind in the shire, was set for the Saturday before Christmas. 
Big Pate, who had already taken a medal at the match and 
was therefore ploughed out, would be guiding one of the com- 
petitors. So I had heard in the bothy. Dannie was versed 
in the ploughmen’s records and had decided opinions as to the 
likely winners. He looked for a holiday on the occasion, and 
advised me to ask for one. But old Nicol, I knew, was not 
fond of granting holidays. 

Ere I next saw Dannie, I had borne something worse than 
bodily torture and — to heighten the anguish — I durst not tell 
it to my friend. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


7 


CHAPTER II 

O N the second day after Big Pate’s settlement at the 
Mailing I found the men just finishing a panful of 
ham when I came over after dinner. 

“ That ham wad hae gaen doon a d sicht 

better wi’ hauf a dizzen eggs,” Pate growled, rising from the 
bench and taking out his pipe. 

” I believe ye,” said Bob ; ” but eggs is rather an expensive 
morsel the noo. Auld Phemie ’ll be sellin’ them at hauf a 
croon the dizzen.” 

Pate gave a curse. ” Wha wants to buy them ? There’s 
plenty for the liftin’ aboot a toon like this. She used to keep 
aboot a hunder hens ; I suppose she'll hae as mony yet.” 

Big Pate had already served at the Mailing and had left 
owing to the poor fare. After a year’s absence he had been 
induced to return, but had stipulated that he should feed 
himself as the second man was doing. It was easy to see why 
old Nicol had been anxious to get his nephew back : Big Pate 
was a good worker, one of the crack ploughmen of the county ; 
more than that, he was a capital slave-driver. 

” That’ll no dae, Pate,” said the younger ploughman in 
answer to the suggestion ; “ it’s ower risky. Man, the eggs 
is watched like gold.” After a pause he asked, ” Did ye try 
on that game when ye was here afore ? ” 

” Damn ye, what need had I ? I wasna on my brose.” 

” I forgot, I forgot. Auld Phemie meated ye and she wad 
gie ye plenty o’ ham-strings ; ” and Bob laughed again, though 
his neighbour’s face gathered a threatening gloom. But Pate, 
rather to my surprise, controlled himself, and his manner was 
unusually civil as he said, 

” At Westwater ” — the farm he had served on during the 
past year— “ I never bocht an egg. Jess Paul rubbit the nests 
and borrowed frae neebours as week I’ve seen me wi’ five 


8 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


dizzen in my kist at ae time. When Jess cam’ into the bothy 
she wad be stuffed like a pudden. I was aye feared to touch 
her till she was cleaned oot. Ye never tried Florrie on ? ” 
Florrie’s no that sort,” said Bob drily. “ It’s ower kittle 
a game, onyway,” he added in a brisker tone ; ” they punish 
it awfu’ heavy.” 

” Ay, when it’s fun’ oot.” 

*' It wad sune be fun’ oot the noo, for the hens ’ll no be layin’ 
weel at this time o’ year and the eggs wad sune be missed. 
Na, I wadna venture ’t ? ” 

” But ye wad eat the eggs if they were there,” his neighbour 
growled. 

” That’s anither story. But I see nae way o’ gettin’ them 
there;” and Bob lounged over to the bed, stretched himself 
out on it, and proceeded to light his pipe. 

Pate remained standing before the fire. 

” Come here,” he ordered in his deep voice, and I got down 
from the other bed on which I had been sitting and came 
forward shrinkingly. 

” Whaur dae the hens maistly lay ? ” 

” In the hen-hoose.” 

Pate caught me a sounding blow on the head that sent me 
staggering against the bed-front. He cursed me for an idiot 
and demanded if I thought he was the same. 

” Whaur else dae they lay ? ” he questioned, when he saw 
me in mortal fear. 

” Twa three lay in the mill-ring, roon’ the top o’ the wa’s, 
and — and — and ane, a yellow ane, has been sittin’ in the bull’s 
lowse-box, in the heck, this week. I was gaun to tell the 
mistress aboot it.” 

” Ay. Weel, ye needna fash.” He drew his watch from 
his fob. ” Awa’ into the lowse-box and coont the eggs. But 
dinna touch them the noo. D’ye hear ? ” 

The hen had made a nest of hay in the very corner of the 
hack where the red bull could not pull out the fodder. There 
were five eggs, quite warm. 

Noo,” said Pate, when I brought the report, ye’ll whip 
awa' fowr o’ thae eggs as sune’s ye’re dune wi’ yer supper the 
nicht, the minute ye’re dune. Will ye ? ” 

Despite my terror of him I could not answer. There were 
awful penalties — what exactly they were I had not heard — for 
this offence. As I stood trembling. Big Pate advanced a step. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


9 

D’ye want me to tear ye joint frae joint ? ” and he held 
me by the shoulder. “ Will ye ? ” 

I had to promise. 

“ Mind this,” Pate cautioned me ; “if ony o’ them see ye — 
though they’re no likely to be aboot at the time — say the hen 
was layin’ awa’ and ye was takin’ the eggs to the mistress.” 

The visit to the loose-box that night was a terrible ex- 
perience. It was not the guilt that dismayed me : it was the 
danger. As I slipped the eggs through the spars and lodged 
them in the pockets of my sleeve-waistcoat, I felt that the red 
bull, sprawling on the litter with his unwieldy bulk, under- 
stood the deed and would tell. In the dark byre through 
which I stole, keeping my hands in my pockets to hold the 
eggs apart, every deep breath that a cow fetched, every rattle 
of the chain at her head, made my heart leap. The journey 
to the bothy, little over a score of yards, seemed miles. 

The two men were waiting expectantly. Big Pate grabbed 
the eggs and set them under a bowl. 

“Lash on the butter,” he called with an oath ; and Bob cut 
a wedge of fresh butter into the pan which he pushed on to 
the fire, chuckling the while. 

Bob was a tall, loosely-built fellow of five-and-twenty, 
with sandy hair and bronzed face. He was a simple youth, 
with neither the head nor the hands of a skilful ploughman, 
though he worked well enough under proper direction. 

“ God’s sake ! they’ll hear us,” he laughed, as Pate, taking 
the eggs one by one, split them into the pan and raised a great 
spluttering. 

“ Awa’ ootby and hing aboot the door and gie a kick wi’ 
yer foot if onybody looks near,” Pate ordered me, while he 
rammed the eggs-shells under the pan. 

Nobody stirred at the house except Florrie, who fetched 
some water from the pump in her zinc pail. The rattle^ of 
dishes went on inside the bothy, accompanied by laughing 
outbursts from Bob and an occasional complacent grunt from 
his neighbour. 

“ Come in,” Pate ordered me after a while. 

The men’s supper was over. On the table stood a bottle 
of essence of coffee, two empty bowls with treacle-like stains 
inside, two half-loaves well cut into, a cotton bag of sugar, a 
milk- jug, and two plates. On one of these a morsel of fried 
egg was lying. 


10 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


*‘Ram that into ye/' said Pate ; and when I obeyed readily 
enough, for my supper had not been too heavy, he went on, 
“ Noo, you’re airt and pairt, and if ever ye cheep, we’ll sweer 
baith o’ us, that ye prigged the eggs for yersel’, for ye wasna 
content wi’ the meat in the hoose.” After giving time to let 
the threat sink into me, he proceeded, “ Noo, one hen canna 
keep us gaun’ though she laid every day. Ye’ll hae twa eggs 
to the piece o’ us ; d’ye hear ? ” 

This was so manifestly impossible that I ventured to say, 

Hoo can I — manage it ? ” 

I'll learn ye to manage it ; I’ll easily learn ye that. Fetch 
that helter.” 

I’ll dae ’t. I’ll dae ’t,” I cried out. 

Fetch that helter,” he repeated sternly, and when he had 
loosened it he doubled me over his knee. ” This is hoo ye’ll 
manage it,” and he brought the rope over my thighs, still raw 
from yesterday’s flogging. Will ye manage it noo, d’ye 
think ? Will ye ? Will ye ? ” and to escape the unbearable 
torture I assented to everything. ” Mind this,” was Pate’s 
final warning ; ” it’s no enough to dae what ye’re budden ; 
ye’ve got to dae ’t withoot a word.” 

On my return from Craigkenneth the next morning Pate 
demanded how many eggs I had got. He and Bob were at 
breakfast, being late of yoking on the dark mornings. Seeing 
my hesitation, he asked sternly, 

” Ye dinna mean to say ye’ve got nane ? ” 

” No yet,” I whimpered. 

“ Then if the fowr eggs are no ready by supper-time I’ll 
tak’ a wrench and pu’ oot ane o’ yer front teeth for every egg 
that’s awantin’. The time for you to skin them is the early 
morning, when Florrie and the auld bitch are in the byre, or 
just the noo, after yer breakfast.” He had been speaking 
calmly though sternly ; now he roared like a lion, “ Will ye 
mind ? Will ye mind ? ” and on my promising obedience, 
Awa’ this minute, then, and see what ye can dae. And hide 
them some place whaur naebody ’ll come on them ; no in the 
bothy.” 

I had to start on the search at once. The hen in the loose- 
box had laid again ; I took one egg, leaving one as before. 
Then I ventured a run into the hen-house and robbed a nest. 
By this it was yoking-time. I hid the booty on the inside 
wall of the boiler-house, reaching the place by climbing the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


II 


side of the loose-box where the pony stood. At dinner-time 
I was again on the prowl and captured an egg in the milk-ring. 
One or two hens laid in the hay and straw of the barn ; I got 
the fourth egg there. 

Even a youngster like myself could see that this would not 
last. If so many eggs had to be pilfered at a season when few 
hens were laying, there must be system in the theft. I roamed 
about the steading whenever I had a spare minute and marked 
the spots that the hens frequented. One was the loft above 
the smaller barn, another was the caff-neuk, opening off the 
same barn. Indeed, this was a favourite place ; whenever 
the door happened to be left open the hens were in and busy 
among the chaff. I made nests in all the likely corners about 
the farm, putting a stolen egg in each nest for a start, and ere 
long I had five hens laying in spots unknown to the mistress. 
From these I could count on two eggs a day ; the other two 
I had to find anyhow. 

Had the mistress any suspicion ? Old Phemie, who kept 
house for her bachelor brother, was not easy to read. She was 
a pleasant-looking woman, for, though her face was wrinkled 
and her shoulders were bent with incessant work, her cheeks 
were fresh, her dark eyes full and bright, her nose and mouth 
well-shaped, and when she talked with outsiders she wore a 
constant smile. Her words were as smooth, her manner as 
soft as butter ; yet her heart was stone. She had no love 
except for gain, and though I was a mere child and kin to 
herself, she would have coined my heart 's-blood. It seemed 
to me, as the plundering went on, that she was puzzled and 
was watching the poultry with more than common care. Once, 
even, I heard her speak her doubts, and while my guilty 
conscience made me tremble I listened closely, knowing that 
if fully warned I should run the less risk. It was early one 
morning when old Phemie and the maid were in the byre. 
The milk-cart was yoked and I was ready to start for Craig- 
kenneth. Florrie, however, was hardly finished and I wandered 
about the byre till she was ready. The mistress stood near 
her, looking thoughtful. 

“ ril no can mak’ oot the six dizzen the morn,'’ she observed, 
referring to the eggs which I took in to the Craigkenneth 
dairy, “ unless the hens lay better than they’ve been daein’.” 

Florrie did not answer at once. The black-and-white 
Ayrshire she was milking had been fractious in spite of Florrie’s 


12 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHfeOY 


threats and coaxing, and, just as the mistress spoke, the beast 
kicked the can and nearly upset it. Florrie drew a long inward 
breath and her face hardened. She set the can in the gangway 
and returned to the cow. 

“ That’s yer trick, ye bitch ; ” and with her neat, strong 
little shoes she drew the cow a kick in the belly. You would 
keep folk at yer ether a’ day and scale the can to the bargain ! 
My leddy. I’ll learn ye whether you or me ’s mistress,” and in 
spite of old Phemie’s remonstrances, ” Ye’ll kill the beast,” 
” She’s quite tractable for ordinar’,” ” She’s as quaet a beast 
as is in the byre,” Florrie kicked again and again with her full 
strength till Pyet trembled, as I did under Big Pate’s halter. 
It was only when Florrie had resumed her stool, fixed the can 
between her knees and stuck her forehead into the cow’s 
quivering flank that she answered the mistress’s remark about 
the hens. 

” Ye’ve ower mony summer layers and ower few winter 
anes. If ye had mair Buff Orpingtons and Plymouth Rocks 
ye wad be gettin’ eggs the noo when prices are guid.” 

” I’m no gettin’ an egg frae yer Orpingtons and yer Plymouth 
Rocks,” the old woman retorted with unusual asperity. 

” Hoo d’ye ken ? ” 

” Because it’s a’ white eggs I’m gettin’, no a broon egg 
among them.” 

” I canna understand that,” said Florrie, ” for I was noticing 
some o’ thae Orpingtons yesterday ; their comb was fair 
scarlet.” 

” I noticed that tae, but they're no layin’ a’ the same.” 
Florrie did not answer, and after a short silence the mistress 
ended the dialogue by saying in a reflective tone, ” I think I’ll 
change their feedin’ for a while. I’ll stop the India corn 
a’thegither and try them wi’ a pickle rice. I’ve seen rice dae 
wonders.” 

And sure enough brown eggs were soon forthcoming. But 
this was because I was giving their layers a respite and was 
seeking my booty elsewhere. 

But how was it to end ? How was it all to end ? The 
thought haunted me in my lonely seasons, as I drove Prince 
into Craigkenneth and home in the cold dark mornings, as I 
mucked the byre on my return, as I lay at night between Big 
Pate and the wall, dog-tired with the long hours and the hard 
work, yet unable to sleep for the weals that burned my flesh. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


13 


How could I escape his cruelty ? Was an}^ escape possible ? 
Some day I should die under his kicks and blows and floggings, 
or, worse, I should get my limbs or my back broken and be a 
cripple or a hunchback for life. No use complaining to the 
master or the mistress ; they did not care though I were 
beaten to death before their eyes ; their one concern was to 
get their work done. Bob could not help me even if he had 
wanted ; he was frightened of his giant neighbour. From 
Florrie, who had been rather good to me during my first half- 
year, I soon ceased to expect help or even sympathy. She 
was understood to be Bob's sweetheart, yet I discovered she 
was carr 3 dng on with Big Pate as well. Complain to the 
police ? Farm-hands, I knew, never bothered with the police : 
everyone had to protect himself. Besides, since I had become 
a thief I was afraid of the police. What could I do ? Could 
I do anything ? 

A night or two before the Maud Ploughing-match, when I 
had endured Big Pate's ill-usage for three weeks, Dannie 
Martin came up to see me. He had fallen in with the old 
shepherd at the mart and had asked about the son in South 
America. Young Sam'l had got the appointment by answer- 
ing an advertisement in a Glasgow paper, and the passage 
out had cost him nothing as he had been in charge of a cargo 
of cattle. After being a year or two with a stock-raising 
company he had started for himself and now owned a big farm. 
My plan, Dannie thought, was to advertise in the same paper. 
When I made no response, he went on, 

“ I wad gang oot wi’ ye, but I can mak' my way at hame. 
I'll be a factor some o' thae days and be upsides wi' auld 
Meiklejohn, the d sneck-drawer." 

Dannie had been refused a holiday for the ploughing-match and 
was bitter against the factor, whom he thought mainly to blame. 

“ Hoo wad Teen Gillies dae for a factor's wife ? " I asked, 
Dannie's talk having made me forget my sorrows for the 
moment. Teen was a little maid at the neighbouring farm 
of Lowis Mains and very friendly with us both. 

“ Hoy-oy-oy 1 I care as much for Teen Gillies as for that 
pipe-stapple. Na. I'll wait till I get among the gentry and 
I'll marry a laird's dochter — Miss Maymie, mebbe, if she's no 
ower auld and wizened. But you're no up to that, Jamie. 
So you should put in an advertisement at ance. I'll help ye 
to draw it up." 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


14 


I think, Dannie,’' I said with some hesitation, “ we needna 
heed ; I’ll no bother.” 

” Nae bother,” my friend assured me. “I’ll tell ye what 
to say, and you can put it in yer ain words and write it oot. 
Ye’re fully as guid as me at that bit o’t.” 

Dannie had an undue respect for my scholarship. It was 
the one point in which he acknowledged my superiority. 

” If I could write and put things thegither like you,” he 
often declared, ” by God ! I wadna be muckin’ byres.” 

When he failed to remark my coldness about the project, 
I had to be more explicit. 

” I’ve kind o’ changed my mind, Dan. I think I wadna 
care to gang to Patagonia.” 

” It was yersel’ that thocht o’t.” 

” I ken that ; but I’ve rather gien up the notion.” 

” D’ye think it’s ower faur awa’ ? ” 

” Ay,” I answered hesitatingly. ” I — I wadna care to leave 
the district.” 

” Please yersel’,” said my friend, with his usual indifference. 
” The district’s weel enough if ye’re weel used. But I wadna 
wait here or ony ither gate to be hashed as you are.” 

But I could not tell him why, in spite of the awful cruelty 
I suffered, I had lately become so much attached to the 
district. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


15 


CHAPTER III 

W HEN my passion for Miss Maymie had grown so 
strong as to master my being I would fondly 
go back in memory and ask myself when 
and where I had seen her first. The answer 
was always doubtful, for, strange as others may think 
it, I was familiar with her appearance ere she impressed 
me deeply, if at all. During my first half-year of farm- 
service, in the latter part of it especially, the admiral and his 
family had been much at home, and Miss Maymie had often 
been down the Lang Stracht, when I was within view. Some- 
times even I must have heard her talking, for I can recall days 
when she passed close to me in company with friends. And 
it may be that this familiarity with her beauty and grace 
was preparing me to become her slave. Still, she was as yet 
little more to me than any other fine lady might have been, 
her sister or a companion, for instance. So that, try as I 
might, I could never be sure of the first time I had set eyes on 
my beloved. 

But the time when she became all the world to me — this I 
know to an hour. In the first week of December Bob and I 
were in Craigkenneth one afternoon with two loads of potatoes, 
and while Bob was in a shop for tobacco and I watched the 
horses. Miss Maymie went by with a young lady-friendi 
Rain had begun to fall and the ladies were hurrying for shelter. 
As they passed, I heard the visitor remark that it did not look 
well to be running along the public street, to which Miss 
Maymie replied in her bright chuckling voice, “ Oh, bother 
appearances 1 ” 

The very next day I was working near the road covering 
some potato-pits with shaws, when IMiss Maymie rode down 
the Lang Stracht in her father’s company. They were 
walking their horses, and I heard Miss Maymie ask, “ What 


i6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


view does this remind you of, papa ? And when the admiral 
gave it up and put the question to her, she answered, so far 
as I could make it out, “ Often told." 

Looking back, I could see that from then she was my queen. 
This would be partly due to my being near her those two times 
in close succession. There was something more. In the 
summer, when I was seeing her often, I had been free from 
any great sorrow. All was now changed. Pate’s cruelty had 
filled my life with gloom. Was it, then, that my heart was 
open for some new, some strange emotion ? It is like. At 
any rate. Miss Maymie was my mistress from that hour, and 
I can truthfully say that, except when I was harassed by work 
or cruelty or was too tired to think of anything, she was for 
ever in my thoughts. People who are older and wiser will 
know the danger of giving one idea mastery of the mind and 
will struggle against it. So far from struggling, I welcomed it, 
indulged it, cherished it, as my one joy. From now, I lived 
in two worlds ; the outer, in which I toiled and suffered and 
from which I tried to keep my thoughts away ; a new 
inward world of fancy where Miss Maymie and I dwelt alone. 
Here I was free, bold, happy. What talks we had ! How we 
read each other’s looks, ay, each other’s thoughts ! Never 
did I put hand to a task but Miss Maymie was an onlooker, 
never did I speak but she was listening, and it was for her I 
spoke. How often, how naturally did I picture her in danger 
and myself appearing at the right moment to save her ! 
For this is to be noted : our relations were always high, 
heroic, chivalrous ; never did the image of my queen suggest 
one impure longing. This, I say, is noteworthy ; for I was 
no purer than other lads of my station. Like farm-youngsters 
of both sexes, I had been corrupted by my elders and I in- 
dulged in obscene talk without a scruple. When wee Teen 
Gillies was in my mind or in my company, my thoughts, my 
words were low enough. But with my mistress I lived in 
another world, sharing her pure thoughts and even expressing 
them in her diction and accent. And what, may ask some- 
one who has never known infatuation like mine — ^what were 
my hopes ? She was the laird’s daughter, well born, rich, 
beautiful, worthy to be a noble’s bride, and I — I was a farm- 
lad with five pounds for my half-year’s fee, the meanest 
creature on her father’s lands. She, too, refined, elegant, 
accomplished ; I with only my few years’ schooling and a 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


3:7 

wild imagination that, far from being a stay or guide, was like 
to be my curse. Even had other things matched, as they 
were far, so far, from matching, the disparity in years was 
ludicrous. I was not yet fifteen and she was woman-grown. 
What did I hope for, look for ? The question is altogether 
impertinent ; it was never in my thoughts. My queen and I 
had found each other, we were one ; that was all I knew. 
Worldly schemes, plans for the future — what were they ? 
It may be asked, more pertinently, on what food did fancy 
nourish itself ? The fare was scanty but all-sufficient. On 
Sundays, the only days I had leisure, I haunted the neigh- 
bourhood of Lowis House, ostensibly for Dannie Martin’s 
company, and I had an occasional glimpse of Miss Maymie, 
sometimes even heard her voice. At odd times she would 
pass within view, driving, walking, cycling, oftener riding, 
while I worked in the fields. Then her name was mentioned, 
though seldom, by the farmer’s people when I was by. Above 
all, I heard of her from Dannie. Slyly, stealthily, in some 
roundabout way I would lead on, speaking of the admiral, 
maybe, or even Miss Seton, in hope that my companion would 
of himself come out with the loved name. If he did, I could 
hold the talk to that theme without raising suspicion ; if 
he failed, I too was silent. For with all my wild rage of 
passion I had a strange secretiveness ; I dreaded discovery 
and would have shrunk from confession. Stranger still, I had 
a morbid self-torturing pride in concealing its signs from the 
lady herself. On the rare occasions when I encountered her I 
held my head high and aside, feigning the indifferent. Terribly 
trying that was to me ; my heart would stop as though it 
would never beat more, and then would bound like to leap 
from my breast. Why could I not glance at her admiringly, 
comprehensively, as I was yearning to do ? Why not take 
some attitude likely to draw her notice ? Timidity due to 
my upbringing prevented me, still more the secretiveness 
common, I think, to boyish lovers. And yet, strange con- 
tradiction ! I believed, and revelled in the belief, that my 
mistress knew of my love. 

Was there something peculiar to my nature that made 
imagination run wild ? With me, at least, it rioted unchecked. 
Perhaps my untoward circumstances were a blessing ; they 
called my thoughts away at times, or even suspended thought 
altogether, and so, it may be, saved my reason. Big Pate’s 

c 


ts 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


cruelty, the wearing toil and long hours that used up my 
strength — these would at intervals veil Miss Maymie’s image 
from my consciousness. But it was always in my mind, and 
no sooner was the bodily strain relaxed than the fair picture 
reappeared. One thing alone would have saved me — 
absence. Had I been taken from her neighbourhood, trans- 
ported to new scenes, I should have been delivered in time. 
Dannie was wiser than he knew in urging Patagonia. For 
change of surroundings was essential. It was no help, it did 
harm, if my mistress was away and I was left. Sometimes 
she was from home that winter, and till she returned there 
was no life in me. Merely to know that she was near, that 
I had a chance of seeing her, was comfort unspeakable. And 
oh ! what wild delicious dreams I indulged if I was alone and 
neither too tired nor too tortured for my fancy to work ! 
At night, lying behind Big Pate, whose snoring seemed to 
shake the walls, I kept sleep away, I lived more strenuously 
than in daylight hours. Another chance was in my morning 
drive to Craigkenneth — the outward journey only, for I 
could not dream with the same delightful freedom when 
Prince’s head was turned to home and to Big Pate. On the 
outward journey all things favoured me. The pony was sure- 
footed, needing no attention ; few vehicles were moving at 
that dark hour. Indeed, the road was not a stirring one at 
any time. The only house on the Lang Stracht, and it was 
near the foot, was Cambuslochan, owned by a gentleman- 
farmer called Ralston. Where the stracht joined the main 
road was the hamlet of Lucas, with the parish church, and 
public-house and a few cottages. Whistle ton smithy was a 
mile further on, and except for half a dozen isolated dwellings 
there was no sign of human neighbourhood till the outskirts 
of Craigkenneth were reached. For three-quarters of an 
hour, then, with the darkness round me like a wall, I could 
dream at ease. Cold and gloom without ; within, a world of 
warm, radiant fancies. How imagination made up for the 
actual chances I had lost through diffidence ! Now, I was 
the fearless lover, talking, listening at my ease, walking with 
my loved one hand-in-hand, kissing her golden hair. Wild I 
rhapsodies — poetry, I called them — would burst from me, , 
and though I seldom committed them to paper they were 
not readily forgotten. And — ^how ridiculous it seems now ! — ' 
to crown these ecstasies, I almost invariably found myself 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


IQ 

addressing Miss Maymie in a couplet that must have stuck to 
my memory from school : 

** The moon by night thee shall not smite, 

Nor yet the sun by day.” 

To repeat these lines inwardly, sometimes aloud, gave me 
relief, joy. They satisfied me ; they spoke my transports 
better than any words I could find elsewhere or fashion for 
myself. Why ? I cannot say, I cannot say. 

So it came that the web of my days, black as mourning 
weeds, was lightened with a thread of gold, and it will now be 
understood why I remained at the Mailing though a fiend 
plied his tortures to drive me away. I could not go. A 
power held me stronger than regard for my comfort, for my 
life. To leave the district was to leave Miss Maymie. I 
could as soon have torn out my heart. 

Yet the passion for my mistress, if it sustained me to abide 
inhuman treatment, rendered my sufferings more poignant. 
For I had the feeling that one who was linked to her by love 
ought to be free and fearless. Had I been living even as I 
was the first half-year, with no tyrant over me, I might have 
aspired to such worthiness. In my present bondage how could 
I hope ? What courage I once boasted was leaving me. A 
sudden word, not from Pate only but from anyone, made me 
start ; I knew that fear looked from my eyes. And this 
would continue and get worse ; no end, no respite. Then, 
more dreadful than the suffering was the risk I ran of disgrace. 
Pate had forced me to become a thief, and any day I might 
be caught and exposed. Oh, the shame ! Miss Maymie ’s 
lover to be jailed — and for what ? For egg-stealing I The 
story would be given in the papers, she would read it, and her 
eyes would flash anger, her lips would wreathe with scorn. 
Her lover a thief ! For, as I say, I had the conviction that 
she knew of my love and in a measure returned it. The 
passion so possessed my soul that it was bound to reveal itself 
unspoken to its object. And she could not remain indifferent ; 
she was so much to me that I must be something to her. 
With reason, then, would she flash scorn and wrath on finding 
that her love had been won by a thief. 

Not here only did the thought of my beloved teach me my 
own unworthiness. An early instance of her power occurred 
in a scene the most unlikely. Dannie Martin, as I mentioned, 
had been denied a holiday for the Maud Ploughing-match, 


20 


THE STORY OF A TLOUGHBOY 


He and I Went into Craigkenneth, however, that night, as wO 
invariably did on the Saturdays. The night was spent in 
the usual way, in loafing about the steeple, talking with our 
mates, smoking, visiting the public-house. The streets were 
a shade rougher than common, for the ploughing-match had 
been put off at the last moment owing to frost, and the plough- 
men who had the holiday had spent most of their time drink- 
ing. Big Pate was of the number, and he was in a specially 
savage temper because, unlike some of his mates, he had 
heard nothing about the postponement and had gone out to 
Maud a fruitless errand. He had come back to Craigkenneth 
ready for a day’s debauchery. All this was told us by our 
chums, and every new story was an excuse for a visit to the 
public-house. To be just both to Dan and myself, we were 
not given to frequenting bars ; ice-cream saloons, even pie- 
shops, offered refreshments more to our mind. This night, 
however, we were in three public-houses, the last situated in 
a wynd of the Old Town. It was late, near closing-time ; 
the half-moon bar was thronged with roughs, some of them 
foreigners, the din was deafening. For once I was not thinking 
of my queen ; the beer had driven her from my head. As our 
group of farm-lads was talking of departure, Dannie took a 
match from the counter to relight Ms pipe. Between the 
puffs he thrilled me with the words, 

“ Miss Maymie was on me aboot smokin’ the ither day.” 

” Get away ! ” I said, when I could speak. 

Sure’s death ! Just the day afore yesterday. I was 
takin’ roon’ the horses for a drink when her and Colonel 
Sessions gaed by. Rare size o’ a man, yon — seeven feet if 
he’s an inch, and wi’ a voice like a bull. His leg — he had on 
knickerbockers ’ ’ 

” But what aboot the smokin’ ? ” 

” Ay. Weel, him and Miss Maymie was gaun by and I 
Was haein' a draw efter my dinner. So Miss Maymie says,. 

* Oh, look there. Colonel Sessions ! Tell him he’ll never be 
a man if he smokes so young,’ ” and Dannie mimicked the 
young lady’s accent. 

What mair, Dannie ? ” 

“ The colonel gied a kin’ o’ lauch and says, ’ It strikes me 
he thinks himself a man already. Eh — ah — may I offah you 
a cigah ? ’ and he pretended to tak* something oot o' his 
jacket-pooch. Just coddin’.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


21 


“ And — and what did Miss Maymie say ? ” 

“ Lauched like to burst her buttons." 

At the first mention of Miss Maymie 's name the beer had 
left my head. I was thinking clearly enough by the time 
Dannie was done. Suppose my queen were to see me now ! 
In this reeking den, amid this cursing crew ! Myself with a 
short, dirty clay between my teeth and a half- tumbler of 
muddy ale before me ! To breathe her name in such a scene, 
ay, to keep a thought of her in the heart, was profanation. 
I stood troubled, shamed, and while a barman was endeavour- 
ing to edge the drinkers to the door I took advantage of the 
confusion to let the pipe fall from my mouth. 

" I'll get it," Dannie volunteered, trying to keep the stream 
of topers off the spot where it lay. " Damn ye, d’ye no see 
the man’s pipe ? ’’ he demanded of a sailor-looking fellow 
thrice his size. 

But I told him not to mind. 

" Let’s oot afore the crush ; " and without waiting to see 
if I was followed I made resolutely for the door. 


22 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER IV 

T here would be nearly a score of us going home 
together that night. Big Pate was very drunk. 
He had spent part of the day, I overheard Bob 
tell, in a low howff of the Wynds and had got into 
a row over some money which he alleged the women of the 
place had stolen. All the men in our company were more or 
less drunk ; the women, though they had tasted, were sober 
except one — May Gentles, whose husband was second pair 
on a place above Lowis House. Everybody, man or woman, 
was talking or rather shouting, and, as if this was not din 
enough, an under-gardener from Lowis House was practising 
on a new concertina, while Bauldy Aitken, another unmarried 
man from up the country, though too drunk to walk unsup- 
ported, sang all the way a bothy-song then in vogue : 

“ I am frae the North, as you may see, 

On excursion come to town : 

All the girls they smile on me, 

But the gentlemen on me frown. 

What care I howe’er they grumble ? 

I pay my way and croosely craw. 

And when I go about, the boys all shout 
‘ It’s the Cock o’ the North in his feathers braw.’ 

Chorus . — “ Up for the doodle-doodle-doo, ” etc. 


The country road, under the keen starry heavens, became a 
babel. 

Almost from the time of leaving Craigkenneth, May Gentles’ 
husband, a silly yokel, had been chaffing Bob about the 
disappointment over the ploughing-match. Old Nicol’s 
agreement, which, however, he might not enforce, had been 
that if his men got a holiday for Maud they would not have 
the day when the local match came round in January. Gentles^ 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


23 


who was keeping up for the Lucas match, was loudly praying 
that Nick would hold his men to the bargain. He cast up 
everything that was likely to irritate his neighbour. His 
own master, so he said, was not only paying his entry-money 
for the Lucas match but had promised him a few shillings 
for decorations, whereas Bob had been wasting his money 
on train-fares and would find himself short ere next pay- 
day. 

“ But it’s as weel,” he went on, finding new matter for 
provocation ; it’s as weel ye’re no to be handin’ at Lucas. 
Oor new mear wad tak’ the shine oot o’ yon mangy brute o’ 
yours.” 

Bob was good-natured in drink and he kept his temper, but 
at this point Big Pate joined in the altercation. He had 
seemed too drunk for speech, and it was a surprise to most 
when he demanded in almost as steady a voice as usual, 

” What mangy brute ? ” 

” That bay mear o’ yours. There’s been an awfu’ blawin’ 
at the Mailing thae last twa year because she got first for the 
best mear on the field. Man, she had naething to compete 
against. Wait till that new mear o* oors gets alangside o* 
her. Have ye seen her yet ? ” 

” I have.” 

” And what d’ye think o’ her ? ” 

” Damned little o* her and a damned sicht less o’ the man 
that works her.” 

The two had come to a stand and were facing each other. 
In his sober senses Wull Gentles would never have dared to 
bait his giant neighbour. Now he said boldly, 

” He’s mebbe as guid a man as ony at the Mailing.” 

” Show it, then,” and Pate, trying to hold himself erect, 
put up his fists. 

” We can mebbe show ” the other began when Pate’s 

left hand caught him on the mouth. He staggered back but 
did not fall. His mouth was red. 

Bob, who had been arming Pate along from the town, in- 
stantly drew up alongside his leader ; the young gardener, 
waiting only to shove his concertina into its case and lay it on 
the roadside, did the same. An unmarried ploughman from 
a farm beside Gentles’ took his place by his friend, though 
with less alacrity, while Bauldy Aitken, in front with the 
women, continued his strain : 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


M 


“ Now as I was walking down the street, 

Very peckish I did feel ; 

Thinks I, I’ll go into a cook-shop 
And get raysel’ a right good meal. 

When I gaed in afore the coonter, 

The maister cries to the waiters a’, 

‘ Get a yaird o’ tripe as fast as ye like, 

It’s the Cock o’ the North in his feathers braw.' 

Chorus . — “ Up for the doodle-doodle doo, 

Down for the diddle-diddle-die, 

Up for the,” etc. 

But Gentles’ little boy, who had been walking beside his 
father, had sped forward at the first blow and alarmed the 
women. They ran back screaming and the noise of their 
approach made the combatants pause. Ere they could 
engage. May pushed between them. 

“ Wha’s meddlin’ wi’ my ane ? Is’t you, ye big black-a- 
vised devil ? Come on, then, if ye daur. If Wull’s ower 
drunk to fecht, I’m sober enough,” and she squared up to 
Pate like any man. 

The men roared with laughter and encouraged May to the 
combat, offering odds on her. Big Pate seemed nonplussed 
and, as he stood looking at the Amazon, the other women 
rushed up, caught both May and her husband and hurried 
them off. To keep his mate from following. Bob produced 
a mutchkin bottle of whisky and handed it round. Another 
ploughman did the same a few minutes later. Then we 
moved on. 

All this had happened near Whistleton smithy. The cot- 
tage next the smithy was a Cyclists’ Rest. Big Pate stopped 
and looked back. He had probably noticed me during the 
dispute, for I had drawn closer to him then, knowing there 
was little danger. 

” Here, ye white-faced beggar, awa’ in there and get us 
pies apiece ; ” and he handed me a florin. “ Look sharp or 
I’ll tear yer liver oot.” 

The group had not gone many yards when I overtook them. 
Big Pate stared at the florin which I held out. 

” What the ’s this ? ” 

” I couldna get ony,” I faltered ; “ the pies are a’ dune.” 

He took the coin in one hand, with the other he seized me 
by the bottom of the waistcoat and, uttering awful curses, 

” I’ll better murder ye and be dune wi’t,” he said. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


25 


Baulked in his vengeance on Gentles, he would mean to 
sate it on me, his usual victim. He lifted me from the ground 
without an effort. A wall of fair height skirted the road 
opposite the Cyclists’ Rest. “ Once, twice,” Pate slowly 
counted, swinging my body in the air before launching me over. 

I had uttered a wild shriek on divining his purpose, and in a 
flash I remembered that somewhere thereabouts was an old 
quarry with a deep, green-mantled, fearsome pool. It might 
be at the very spot ; that would be my grave. I gave but 
the one shriek, made but the one struggle ; then the dread 
of hurtling through the air and striking the deathly water 
overpowered my senses. I knew nothing more. 

After a long interval — ^it might be hours, it might be years 
— consciousness came back, like the blood returning to a 
numbed limb. Where I was — in life or in the grave — I 
could not tell. Presently I felt myself being roughly shaken 
and was aware of a voice imploring me to ” wauken up.” 
The voice was familiar and after a time I placed it as Dannie 
Martin’s. Opening my eyes I caught the gleam of stars — 
another token that I was still amongst the living. Ere long 
the shaking was repeated, the voice renewed its pleading, and 
I then gathered strength to ask. 

Did he throw me in ? ” 

” Throw ye ower, ye mean ? No, no ; ye’re a’richt. But 
try, for God’s sake, to rise or I’ll be frozen to death as weel’s 
yersel’.” 

Had I felt comfortable, I should never have risen ; I felt 
so disinclined for effort. It was the cold that forced me to 
move. I rose with Dannie’s help and, holding by his arm, I 
staggered on, while he related what had happened during 
my spell of senselessness. Big Pate had really meant to toss 
me over the wall, but as he was preparing for the final heave 
the young gardener had come behind and knocked the legs 
from him. Pate crashed to the ground, I in his arms. When 
he got up he left me lying and started after the gardener. He 
was so drunk, however, that little harm was likely to follow. 

As Dannie chattered on, I became aware that my scanty 
strength was ebbing once more, and ere we were many yards 
up the Lang Stracht I sank by the roadside. My friend 
coaxed, prayed, remonstrated ; all was useless ; I could not 
stir. He waited in hope that some late straggler would pass, 
and at times he whistled and called to some of our company 


26 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


whose shouts and songs could still be heard. At last he pro- 
posed going up to Cambuslochan for help ; the house was near 
and the windows were lighted. By this time I was past 
speaking ; I had not strength even to form a wish ; all I 
cared for was to be left in peace. Dannie did not leave me 
long, however ; he was back in a few minutes and brought a 
helper, whom I knew for Mr. Ralston himself. I felt the 
gentleman lift me in his strong arms and carry me up the short 
avenue and into the kitchen, where he set me in an arm-chair 
before a glowing fire. Though I was so weak I had not lost 
my senses ; I knew what was passing and recognised the 
people about me. The maid was in the kitchen when we 
entered, and a minute later the mistress appeared. She was 
a young, tall, pretty lady, and still a bride, for Mr. Ralston, 
though a man of forty, was only a few months married. 

“ There’s both coffee and brandy here, Alec,” said the young 
lady. 

” A little of both won’t hurt him,” her husband said ; 
and I watched her, as in a dream, pouring coffee into a cup 
and adding the brandy. When she was for handing it to her 
husband, “You give it, dear,” he said. 

The one wished to leave the gracious office to the other. I 
understood them ; Miss Maymie and I had been through all 
that. 

The young lady held the cup to my lips while Mr. Ralston 
encouraged me to drink. After a mouthful or two I could 
hold it myself, and the tide of life began to flow steadily and 
swiftly back. It was evident to me that Dannie had already 
explained the cause of my weakness, for my kind friends 
asked no questions ; indeed, they only waited to be assured 
that I was myself again. I was told to rest myself thoroughly, 
and the maid got orders to give Dan some supper. Then the 
pair left us, having friends to attend to, as we learned from the 
maid, and only returned when I had so well regained my 
strength that I spoke of moving. 

“ I think you should stay here for the night,” the young 
lady said kindly, and her husband assured me that he would 
explain things to Mr. Gow ; but I felt I had been trouble 
enough, so I thanked them and said I was quite fit for walking. 

“ I’ll see him up the road, anyway,” Mr. Ralston said to 
his wife ; and she brought his greatcoat and helped him on 
with it. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


27 

When the three of us were outside, Mr. Ralston, who had 
taken my arm to support me, talked with us of farm affairs — 
the ploughing that was already done and so on ; then, chang- 
ing his tone and addressing me by name, he asked, 

“ Do you never think of leaving the Mailing ? You're 
not very well used, Fm afraid. My wife’s people have a 
farm in Fife, and Fve no doubt they would find work for you. 
Wouldn’t you rather be there ? ” 

Not knowing well how to decline I was silent, but my 
butty answered for me. Dannie, talkative enough with his 
own kind, was sheepish among better-class people, more 
sheepish far than I, and in the kitchen at Cambuslochan, 
when the lady was by, he had scarcely spoken a word. Mr. 
Ralston’s homely talk had restored his confidence. 

“ I was advisin’ him to that mysel’,” he said, “ but he’ll no 
hear tell o’t. The fact is, Mr. Ralston, he’s fond o’ the 
district.” 

” Yes ? ” queried the gentleman ; and I detected a shade 
of interest as well as amusement in his tone. ” Well, Fm 
fond of the district myself. Only, I don’t like to know of 
anyone being ill-used.” After a little he resumed, ” Some- 
thing should be done, at any rate. You ought to tell Mr. 
Gow about Mackinlay’s treatment.” 

” The fact is, Mr. Ralston,” my chum again interposed, 
” auld Nick — I mean, Mr. Gow, disna ^e a damn — I mean, 
disna care a button though Jamie was killed afore his lookin’ 
een. A’ he cares aboot is to get plenty o’ wark oot o’ 
him.” 

The gentleman gave a half-laugh, half-sigh. ” Maybe he 
would pay more attention if I spoke to him,” he suggested 
after another pause. 

” Fve thocht aboot that mysel’,” said Dannie complacently ; 
” but I doot Jamie there wadna care for ’t. He micht be 
feared Big Pate wad pay him back for clypin’. Isn’t that sae, 
Jamie ? ” he asked patronisingly. 

I said, ” Yes, I would rather not tell ” ; and our friend, seeing, 
I suppose, that it was not easy to render help, could only 
remark that he wished something could be done. 

He had accompanied us to the mouth of the loan and he 
stood a moment to bid us good-night. 

” Fm glad, at any rate,” he said ere turning away, ” that 
the two of you stick so well together. Help him all you can,” 


28 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


he said to my chum, “ as you did to-night, and IVe no doubt 
Jamie will stand by you." 

Just at the loan-mouth two dark figures were lying on the 
grassy bank. The one was little Bauldy, the other we did 
not need to scrutinise, for a concertina rested in his lap. 
They were sleeping heavily and did not stir when my friend 
gave his loudest " Hoy-oy-oy ” at their ear. Dannie and I 
should have parted here, he holding up the Lang Stracht and 
I turning aside to the Mailing; but the vision of Big Pate 
waiting me and ready to finish his murderous work unnerved 
me again, and I begged my chum to convey me to the bothy. 
Mr. Ralston’s parting counsel might still be working in Dannie’s 
mind ; at any rate, he merely uttered another yell and accom- 
panied me without demur. In the bothy all was quiet. Dannie 
entered boldly, and hearing nothing I followed. The fire was 
out, but by the light of a stable-lantern I could see Big Pate 
lying above the clothes with only his boots off. Though he 
was snoring loudly I durst not go near him. 

" Bob," I whispered, stealing over to the other bed. 

“ Wha's there ? " 

"It’s me — Jamie. I say, Bob, ye micht let us lie in your 
bed for a nicht." 

But Bob had a young ploughman in with him and wanted 
no other bedfellow. 

" Slip in at Pate’s back ; he’ll never move ; he’s that drunk 
he couldna kill a flee." 

Dannie, impatient to be home, gave me the same advice, 
and I obeyed at last, though I kept my clothes on, ready to 
escape at a hint of danger. Had the cold been less keen, I 
should have lain in the cart-shed. 

In spite of my tiredness I did not sleep. The incidents of 
the night occupied my thoughts till Miss^^aymie appeared 
and resumed her sway. 

It must have been the small hours of morning and I had 
fallen into a drowse when sounds from the road roused 
me. 

" There’s that daft beggar, Bauldy," I heard Bob mutter 
with a curse ; and I soon distinguished the notes of a con- 
certina accompanying a voice which shouted the familiar 
strain : 

“Up for the doodle-doodle-doo, 

Pown for the diddle-diddle-die/’ etc. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


29 

A few minutes more and the two musicians staggered in 
Bauldy waving his arms about as he sang : 

“ At this my blood began to boil ; 

And I hit the haddock on the snout. 

Says he to a policeman, ' Come here, my man, 

And help me to fling this rooster out.’ 

They took me up before the Bailie, 

And two pund ten he made me draw ; 

‘ Because,’ says he, ‘ it’s plain to see 

Ye’re the Cock o’ the North in yer feathers braw.’ 

Up for the,” etc. 

Bob and Tam Bayne raised themselves in the bed and 
exchanged rough greetings with the new-comers. Soon 
Bauldy came over and tried to shake Big Pate into conscious- 
ness. The giant awoke at last and in better humour than 
most of us expected. Little Bauldy could take liberties 
with him ; indeed, he was a general favourite. He was a 
short, square-built, merry-faced fellow, utterly careless for 
the future and ready at any time to share his last sixpence 
with friend or stranger. Each of the visitors had his bottle ; 
Bauldy carried two, one of them unbroken. As the bottle 
circulated, a ploughman would take it in his hand, using his 
thumb as a cork, give it a wild flourish to make the liquor 
gurgle, and ere putting it to his lips would call a ploughman’s 
toast, of which this is the most decent sample : 

” Here’s to the coulter and sock, 

Here’s to the brechan and hames, 

Here’s to the bonnie bit lassie 
That lies in her ploughman’s arms.” 

*‘Eh, ye ” “ Ye’re there, ye auld ” were the common 

salutations. The row at Lucas came up. “ Wull Gentles ! 
he’s a damned shadow,” said one. ” I wadna lay my haun 
on sic an image,” said another. Then the talk was of horses. 

Is yon broon mear o’ yours in foal ? ” Big Pate asked. 

“I say so,” replied Bayne, ” though the boys up by have 
bets on baith sides.” 

” She’s no in foal ; I’ll baud ye a croon.” 

Ye’re a liar, then ; for I saw the foal movin’.” 

Big Pate, who had been pretty sober on waking, took um- 
brage at the remark, and catching Tam Bayne by the throat 
held him at arm’s length : 


30 


THE STORY OF A FLOUGHBOY 


Another word, ye beggar, and I’ll choke the life oot o’ 

ye.'’ 

I trembled for fear his passion, once roused, should turn 
on me. But wee Bauldy took the floor, brandishing a bottle 
in either hand as he sang : 

" Up for the doodle-doodle-doo, 

Down for the diddle-diddle-die, 

Up for the doodle-doodle-doo, 

Down for the diddle-diddle-die.” 

The giant relaxed his grip under the spell of the music. 
Bauldy passed a bottle ; Pate partook ; Tam Bayne partook ; 

the two grasped hands; “Eh, ye ” “Ye’re there, ye 

auld “ was again the watchword. 

Then Bob sickened and vomited over the bedside. Bauldy 
began to doze on the bench before the out fire. A little later 
Tam Bayne staggered to the door and we could hear him 
retching in the court. All the strangers lay about the bothy 
the night through and only left at breakfast-time on Sunday. 
It was Bauldy’s day for sorting the horses on his farm, but 
he was unconcerned. His butty would do his work that 
morning ; Bauldy had often done as much for him. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


31 


CHAPTER V 

O N the Monday the steam thresher — the Big Mill ” 
— was at the Home Farm, and Bob and I had been 
sent over to help. My work was to carry the 
straw, and as some of the stacks were barley I was 
warned to keep the barley-awns from getting down my back. 
“ They’ll kittle the very soul oot o’ ye,” I was told. 

I got a broad cravat from Dannie and tied it tightly round 
my neck. It had not been protection enough, it seemed, 
for during the next day or two I had an uneasy itching sensa- 
tion over my body. One forenoon the same week — ^it was 
Christmas Day — I made out the true cause. 

We were dighting corn in the granary. Bob was filling, I 
was driving the fanners ; Florrie, who liked the men’s company, 
provided the work was not too heavy, was helping Pate to 
load the sacks with the corn as it came out clean. The 
fanners were old and clumsy, and a stronger arm than mine 
was needed to turn the crank without a stop. I had slackened 
a little. Big Pate looked at me threateningly. 

If ye stop again ” — and he swore terribly — ” if ye stop 
for hauf a second. I’ll mak’ ye gae doon the stair at aestep.” 

Terror made me strive my hardest. When the task was 
like to beat me, I ventured to ask. 

Will ye let’s stop a minute to tak’ aff my waistcoat ? ” 

” If ye dae, by God ! I’ll strip yer breeks,” was Pate's 
answer to the prayer. 

Florrie laughed. 

It would not have given him a thought, I knew, to carry 
out his threat. I toiled on and was soon sweating like a horse. 
Bob took pity on me. 

” Here ! I’ll tak’ a haun at the ca’in’. Man, ye’re a useless 
wee beggar.” 

Pate made no remark at the moment, but as I was letting 


32 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


go the crank he leant over the fanners and caught me a thun- 
dering whack with his huge hand. I fell among the grain. 

“ Mind yer ain wark/’ Pate admonished his neighbour 
with a side-shake of the head ; “ ye’ve been telt that already/* 
to which Bob answered carelessly, 

“ It’s a’ ane to me.” 

I was so used to Pate’s blows that I did not think of whim- 
pering. As soon as the shock was over I gathered myself up, 
knowing that Pate would soon have roused me with his foot. 
My cheek was on fire, but I suppose I must have been a comical 
sight as I dashed at the fanners and began turning the handle 
with all my strength, for Florrie laughed loudly and said, 

” My certie, Pate, ye’d hae made a rare faither. It’s a 
pity ye’ve nae bairns o’ yer ain ! ” 

Bob struck in, and the three vied with each other in dirty 
talk while I laboured on. With every turn I felt myself getting 
nearer the limit of my force. Yes, I must give in, drop down, 
and let Pate do with me what he liked. Then the terror of 
him would nerve me for one effort, just one effort, more. My 
head spun, my hands clung to the bar and made it revolve, 
I knew not how. I was like a person drunk. Yet I was 
aware of my strange state and was frightened. Was I going 
to faint, to die ? Everything was in a swim before my eyes. 
Afterwards I remembered, as in a dream, that I was gasping 
and moaning, and that the others were occasionally laughing 
at me. That did not trouble me. I was past caring. It 
would not have been so hopeless had I known how long the 
work would last ; but I had not heard how many sacks were 
to be filled ; at any rate, I had not heeded. In this state of 
desperation I was toiling on, my body as well as my arms 
throwing its weight on the crank and turning it mechanically, 
my mind filled with the one thought that at any moment I 
might drop, when dimly, vaguely, as if half-awake, I saw 
Bob chuck his pail into the corn. Still I made the bar revolve 
though the fanners were empty, and it was not till Bob 
punched me with his knee that I understood the toil was 
ended. Even when the crank was motionless I clung to it 
for support ; left to myself I should have fallen. The know- 
ledge that the end was near strengthened me to resume my 
task for a few minutes till the bushelful of spilt grain was 
put through, but I still held by the crank and looked on, 
half-senseless, while Pate tied the last sack and swung it into 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


33 


the row, and Bob removed the batten that had been fixed 
under a couple to steady the fanners. I only moved when 
Pate ordered me to take a besom and sweep a space he indi- 
cated near the wall. Then he and Bob zigzagged the fanners 
into the space I had cleared. The three went out, leaving 
me to sweep the floor. 

“ Look sharp," Pate stopped at the door to say, with a 
curse as usual. " Well be takin’ in neeps. See that ye're 
ready by the time we’re yoket.” 

The moment they vanished I took a step towards the corn 
and let myself sink on the soft bed. Never was rest so sweet. 
I yielded myself to its indulgence ; thought even was sus- 
pended. Still, I did not sleep ; at any rate I had not slept 
long, for on rising I was nearly as hot as when I had been at 
work. Afraid that Big Pate might be waiting, I plied the 
besom briskly. Any clean grain that was strewn about I 
swept into the mass of corn, the refuse, with the chaff, went 
into the heap of shag against the wall, and what lay scattered 
near the door had to be drawn out and thrown over the stair- 
head for the hens. I was still hot, as I say, and bathed in 
sweat, and while I stood a moment considering whether to 
sweep some grains into the shag or the corn I had a return 
of the itchy creepy feeling on my back and chest. I put up 
my hand to rub the back of my neck. My finger touched 
something ; I drew it out and looked at it ; then I knew that 
the uneasiness of the past few days had not been caused by 
barley-awns. 

My horror was indescribable. To be known as one infested 
with vermin ! People would shun me as if I had some loath- 
some disease. There had been a great commotion the last 
autumn on its being discovered that Dennis Connolly, a 
harvest-hand, had left his bed polluted. Old Nicol had sworn 
that never another Irishman should stay on his premises. 
And with me they would deal yet harder ; from me cleanliness 
was expected. Oh, how I should be disgraced with every- 
body I knew ! Nobody would touch me, come near me ; 
nobody, man or woman, young or old. I should be cast out 
to herd with tramps. And Miss Maymie — ^it might come to 
her ears, it certainly would, and she would renounce me with 
loathing ; indeed, my own shame would drive me from her 
neighbourhood. Where had I got the unclean things ? 
This I asked myself in desolation as I worked with the men 

D 


34 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


at the turnip-pits. Could it have been at the Big Mill on 
Monday, maybe while I stood among the women eating my 
piece at half-time ? Hardly. Where, then ? What other 
likely place had I been in ? Ah ! there it was — the low 
public-house I had visited last Saturday night. True, I had 
not been in it long, but seemingly the time had been long 
enough. Those dirty foreigners I had mixed with — what 
was I doing in such a crew ? What else could I look for ? 
Oh, why were my good resolves so late of coming ? Why, 
instead of driving me from the foul den, had they not kept me 
from entering it ? Oh, that I had been more true to my 
mistress, that I had been more worthy of her ! 

It was doubly hard that this calamity should fall on me 
now, for I had just made a great sacrifice for my mistress* 
sake. The last Sunday afternoon, as Dannie Martin and I 
were strolling through the Satter Wood, 

** Licht up,” said Dannie, who had begun smoking ere we 
left the bothy. 

“ N-no,** I said ; and, feeling that some explanation was 
necessary, I added, ” Ye mind I broke my pipe last nicht.” 

” So ye did. I'll get ye ane. I've twa three new anes in 
the bothy.” 

I begged him not to mind and insisted that we should go 

on. 

” Tak' a draw o’ mine, then ; ” and he obligingly offered 
his clay. 

” N-no,” I said once more ; ” I've — I'm thinkin' to gie up 
the smokin'.” 

” Like the chewin’ better ? ” he inquired. ” I tak’ a turn 
at them baith.” 

I explained, very shamefacedly, that I thought of giving 
up tobacco in every form. 

” Hoy-oy-oy ! ” yelled Dannie, and in a little he declared 
in settled tones ” Big Pate’s spilin' ye, Jamie ; he’s takin' 
a' the spunk oot o’ ye ; ye'll never be a man at this rate.” 

I brought up what Miss Maymie had told him a day or two 
before — that he would never be a man if he smoked so young. 
Dannie swore and demanded contemptuously, 

” What does the like o’ Miss Maymie ken aboot thae 
things ? ” 

But Miss Maymie was my conscience ; she disapproved of 
the habit, and that was enough. It was cruel, then, that I 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


35 


should be so disgraced. All that day I moved in the gloom 
of despair. I had no chance till late at night of finding out 
if I was badly infested, for after I had washed the dishes at 
midday v/e were almost ready to yoke, and in the evening 
Dannie came along and waited till ten. He had a great deal 
to say about a treat that the admiral was to give early in fhe 
year to all the farm-hands on the estate. At another time 
how eagerly would I have listened ! Now I was too dis- 
traught to heed. The moment my chum was gone I took a 
stable-lantern from the bothy, lit it in the boiler-house and, 
entering the loose-box that Prince occupied, proceeded to 
strip. The vermin were on my flannel semmit, my shirt, and 
drawers. Hate mingled with my disgust ; yes, hate. I 
hated the crawling things as if they had disgraced me on 
purpose. When I came back to the bothy, Pate was in bed. 
Bob was brushing his leggings for a trip into Craigkenneth 
with turnips the next day. Neither seemed to have a 
suspicion. 

On the Friday evening, when I had finished my supper and 
was rising to leave the fitchen, the mistress remarked, 

“ Ye’ll be for the toon the morn’s nicht ? ” 

‘'Oh ay,” I answered carelessly. 

“ And whaur d’ye pass yer time when ye’re in ? ” she 
asked. Her manner was as oily as usual, and it never 
occurred to me that she was questioning me with a purpose. 
Florrie, who had been passing between the kitchen and the 
scullery, stopped to listen, though I gave no heed to this at 
the moment. I told the mistress that we spent our time 
mostly about the Steeple. 

Ye’re never up aboot the Wynds ? ” 

Then I knew I was discovered, at least suspected. It was 
a second or two ere I replied, and when I did my voice shook. 

” N-no ; at least, just staunin’ at the end o’ the street.” 

” Ye’re never in ony o’ the public-hooses there ? ” 

” No,” I said with an effort. The blood, I felt, had left my 
face. 

” Ye never gang into Tibbett’s public-hoose in the Friars’ 
Wynd ? ” 

Though aware that lying was useless now, I answered ” No ” 
once more. 

” Eh, ye leein’ young scoondrel I ” Florrie burst out. 
” Ye was in Tibbett’s nae faurer gane than Saturday last and 


36 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


waited till ye were turned oot at closin'-time. Can ye deny ’t, 
ye dirty little whalp ? And d’ye ken what the mistress is 
questionin’ ye for ? She cares as little as that poker whaur 
ye were if ye had left yer company ahint ye. But are ye 
aware o’ the breed ye brocht hame ? ” She stopped, as- 
tonished, as she inspected my face, and it was some seconds 
ere she went on, “ I declare if he doesna ken o’t already ! 
Ye lousy little blackguard ! The bed’s hotchin’ wi’ beasts 
till it’s no fit for a pig, and you kent a’ aboot it and never 
gied a cheep ! Ye shameless wee loon ! But we’ll mak’ ye 
pay for ’t. The master ’ll tak’ yer fee this hauf-year to buy 
new bed-claes for the bothy.” 

Not till this moment had I thought about the bed. So 
childish, so ignorant was I ! How could I miss knowing that, 
if the clothes I slept in were swarming, the bed could not be 
free ? But this was not the thought that shot through my 
brain as Florrie made the onslaught. At once and past all 
doubt I knew that I had not infected the bed : the bed had 
infected me. Yes ; Big Pate had got the swarm in the 
Wynds at the howff where he had spent most of the Saturday. 
Assured of my innocence I held up my head. 

” It wasna me,” I declared stoutly ; “I never brocht them 
hame.” 

"You never brocht them ! ” cried Florrie. ” And wha 
brocht them, then ? They’re no on Bob’s bed, so it 
maun ” 

She stopped herself, and my old aunt finished the sentence 
for her. 

” It lies atween you and Pate. And you admit that ye 
passed the feck o’ the nicht in the very place whaur ye was 
likely to get sic a breed. Wad ye lay ’t to Pate’s charge after 
that ? ” 

My courage died. To maintain, even to hint, that Pate 
was the guilty one would bring on me some cruelty more 
awful than I had yet known. It would be murder this time. 
Where should I turn ? I stood between disgrace and death. 
Sinking on to a chair and hiding my face in my arms on the 
table I sobbed out, 

” I wish I was deid. My God ! I wish I was deid.” 

The women were silent. When I lifted my head and glanced 
at them shamefacedly, they were looking at each other in a 
curious way. Florrie spoke first. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


37 


“ Weel, Jamie, if ye’re vexed for 't, I daursay the mistress 
’ll no be ower hard on ye. But if it ever happens again, we'll 
hae nae pity. Ye’re gaun to gie us a devilish lot o’ dirty 
wark.” 

“ Ay, and we canna rin the same risk again,” said old 
Phemie. ” Ye maun be put somewhere else at nicht. I'll 
no hae my guid bed-claes destroyed. Came awa’ower to the 
bothy ; I think the master '11 be there.” 

Had Florrie not pushed me in front of her I should not have 
obeyed. The angry voices of the men could be heard across 
the court. 

” This is a bonnie mess ye’ve made, ye deevil’s v/halp,” 
was old Nicol’s shrill greeting. ” What hae ye to say for 
yersel’ ? D’ye ken that ye’ve maist ruined me ? Thae claes 
'11 a’ hae to be smeeket ; mebbe new anes bocht a’thegither. 
WTia’s to come guid for that ? ” 

"And wha’s to come guid for my claes ? ” Big Pate growled. 

I ken naething and care naething aboot any o' yer claes,” 
Bob broke out with more boldness than I had ever seen him 
show, “ but there'll hae to be a change in this bothy or I’ll 
be oot o’t for ane.” 

” Ay, Bob,” old Phemie put in soothingly, ” ye’re quite 
richt ; me and Florrie was just speakin’ aboot that. A dirty 
callan like this canna be left among dacent folk, We’ll put 
him in the barn-loft. He’s no to mean there.” 

She and Florrie proceeded to help each other with sugges- 
tions for restoring cleanliness to the farm-town. I had a 
good shirt and new drawers and socks in my chest ; these 
were to be put out and Florrie would bring them to the barn- 
loft in the morning. She would also fetch a waistcoat and 
trousers from the house. All the things I was wearing would 
be washed in saltpetre ere they were used again. Big Pate 
was to have his clothes cleaned as well. But he had plenty 
of changes. 

Old Nicol was continually breaking in \vith laments. 

” I think nae farmer had ever my luck. We've barely got 
rid o’ the breed that Irish crew left and we’ve anither to wipe 
up. It’s awfu’ ; it’s fair ruin.” However, when the women 
had things arranged to their mind, he ended the conference 
by saying, ” Noo, Jamie, we’ll say naething aboot it ootside, 
as this is yer first offence. But mind, if it happens again. 
I’ll expose ye, sib to me as ye are, and that’ll be the end o' 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


38 

ye for farm-service. Nae farmer ’ll hae ocht to dae wi’ a 
man that has beasts aboot him. But we’ll say naething this 
time. Isn’t that sae, lads ? ” 

“ We may let it pass this time, but I’m damned if it does 
again,” Bob declared, and the threat, I felt, was meant for 
his neighbour. ” I dinna care hoo it happens. So ye’d 
better be carefu’.” 

Big Pate, who had hardly spoken during the colloquy, 
ignored the challenge. For myself, it was a relief to be saved 
from exposure, even though the precaution was taken for 
the farmer’s sake, not mine. Old Nicol would have had 
trouble had his place got a bad name. For instance, when the 
Big Mill visited the Mailing, the younger mill-man slept in 
the bothy. If he suspected danger he might demand quarters 
elsewhere. To me the new arrangement was rather attrac- 
tive. It would secure me, for the night at least, from Big 
Pate’s ill-usage. It had another attraction as strong and far 
dearer : it gave me the chance of being alone ; that meant, 
the chance of dreaming about Miss Maymie. 

For I could think of her again without shame. I had 
escaped disgrace ; still better, I was free from guilt. And 
if I had been saved in spite of myself, the warning would not 
be lost. For time to come I would shun low haunts, low 
habits ; I would do nothing to deserve my queen’s contempt ; 
I would be worthy of her yet. 

The barn-loft was in the far corner of the court, facing the 
granary. From the Wee barn you climbed to it by a steep 
stair. The old horse-mill, still used occasionally, was fed 
from it, the mill-ring being in the stack-yard through the wall. 
My bed — an old mattress covered with threadbare patch- 
work rugs — had been made opposite the mill. My old uncle 
accompanied me the first night. 

” Noo, ye’ll blaw oot the lamp afore ye gang to yer bed,” 
was his good-night. ” It wad be a devilish thing if ye burned 
doon the steadin’ aboot oor lugs.” 

He was afraid I might waste the oil and, though I should 
have felt cheerier with a light, I obeyed. A Ught luight be 
seen from the kitchen door. 

I was tired and fell asleep at once. What hour I woke I 
cannot say. At first I did not know my whereabouts, with 
darkness all around instead of the familiar glow from the 
bothy fire. Soon I came to myself and felt that I was very 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


39 


cold ; it must have been the cold that wakened me. My feet 
and shoulders, especially, were ice. The loft could not miss 
being cold, for draughts came through the shaky roof and 
from the mill-ring, and on one side it was open to the Big 
or Straw barn, the doors of which were slack. I crouched 
into the smallest bulk, trying to warm one part of my body 
by another. That seemed to make me colder. Then I sought 
my resource in all trouble — Miss Maymie. I imagined myself 
walking through the Park in front of Lowis House. Some- 
body was entering it from the little gate in the ring-fence. 
The somebody was Miss Maymie. We met and passed, of 
course, without speaking, though our eyes spoke. When I 
reached the gate, I noticed something white on the sward : 
it was a fine snowy handkerchief, sweetly scented. I snatched 
it up and ran after her. She did not hear my foot till I was 
within a few yards, and even when she turned I did not speak, 
I waited till I was quite close. Then I touched my cap with 
one hand, held out the handkerchief in the other, and said in 
my purest English, 

“ I found this at the big plane-tree. Miss Maymie ; I think 
you must have dropped it.’" 

With a beaming smile she answered, Oh, you are so kind ! 
I wouldn’t have lost that handkerchief for the world. It 
was a birthday present from a dear aunt who is dead. And 
I might never have seen it again but for you. I think you 
stay at Abbot’s Mailing ? ” 

My response was slow of coming ; fancy was not working 
well. Indeed, I had often remarked that Miss Maymie and 
I had our most delicious interviews when she appeared un- 
called. Still more, my body had to be comfortable. If I 
were dead-tired or in sharp pain, she would not stay long, 
nor was our intercourse satisfying even when she came. Now 
my bodily discomfort was so keen that Miss Maymie’s image 
wavered and soon fled. The night was frosty with a high 
breeze, and the cold was unbearable. I shivered and every 
now and then gave a wild start. It was some time ere I 
fairly set myself to plan some fence against the cold. My 
first thought was to shift the bed. That was abandoned ; no 
other spot was more sheltered. What I needed was more or 
better covering. Were there any sacks about ? Odd ones 
were sometimes left in the Wee barn just below me ; it might 
be worth while looking. I had no matches to light the lantern 


40 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


and I felt it eerie in the dark and loneliness ; necessity made 
me stir. I rose and groped round the wall till I reached the 
railing, then kept it to the stair-head and descended. First 
I made for the chopper on which sacks were often left. None 
were there to-night, so I felt my way to the far end, and on 
the partition separating the two barns I found a lot of sacks 
hanging on nails. Better too many than too few, was my 
thought, and I secured a big armful. By this time I was 
nearly helpless with cold, having nothing on but my shirt, 
and I recklessly hurried through the darkness to where I 
supposed the stair must be. First I was brought up by a 
tremendous smash on the shoulder from what I afterwards 
found to be the end of the chopper. On recovering myself a 
little I moved on, though more cautiously, but soon touched 
something with my foot and brought the top of it on my head. 
Then it fell with a great crash, the noise frightening me more 
than the blow, which had not been severe. A little time 
was again needed to get over the shock. On stooping I 
found that the object was a hay-fork. Without further mis- 
adventure I reached the bed, and in frantic haste — for I was 
perishing — I spread the sacks as well as the darkness allowed 
and got into bed once more. My teeth still chattered, my 
limbs would start, but by degrees I gathered some heat, then 
I felt comfortable, then forgot everything. 

After a time I woke again. It was still dark, utterly dark ; 
I knew that, though my eyes were shut. The cold was not 
troubling me now ; I was in no bodily discomfort. Something 
else was giving me thought, something very different. There 
was dead stillness ; not a rat or a mouse moved ; yet, as I 
lay with shut eyes, I had the feeling that I had not wakened 
of myself. I had heard something, had become aware of 
something, that broke my sleep. Something, somebody, was 
in the loft, was close to me, at my side. I durst not stir ; 
the least movement and He would act, would clutch me by 
the throat, would choke me dead. I even checked my breath- 
ing till it was so soft as to be inaudible ; any sign of life would 
be excuse for Him to assail me. What “ He ” was I could not 
tell — Something supernatural, yet with the merciless heart of 
a man. So spellbound was I with fear that I durst not open 
my eyes, though well aware that all was dark around ; if I 
did, I should behold Something monstrous. Something over- 
whelming, Something more awful than the vague fantasy I 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


41 


now had, Something that would end all. I stopped breathing 
altogether that I might hear Him and know his exact where- 
abouts. Nothing, nothing ! Utter stillness ; but it was a 
stillness charged with a presence. Not only was He there : 
He knew my every movement, my every thought, knew that 
I was listening for Him, was playing the spy. This would 
anger Him, would precipitate His attack ; my only chance 
was to bide still, to bide in undisguised fear ; that might 
appease Him. So I let myself breathe again, though softly 
as before. Soon the feeling possessed me that He had an 
axe raised over my head, and that at any moment, on some 
movement of mine or merely from His own whim, He would 
bring it rushing down and cleave my skull. So vivid was this 
feeling that involuntarily my eyelids pressed tight together 
as they might before a threatened blow. With all this acute- 
ness of terror the thought would come. Is not this sheer fancy ? 
How can anybody be near ? Once, when this question arose, 
I ventured, with a shrinking like the shrinking from death, to 
open my eyes. As I had known already, the deepest darkness 
closed me in ; yet the darkness was no protection ; He could 
see, though I was helpless as the blind. Once my eyes were 
open, I durst not shut them again. There I lay on my back 
silent, motionless, looking upward and at times venturing a 
stealthy glance aside, knowing the while that such freedom 
might enrage Him and bring down the fatal stroke. How 
it ended I never knew. My panic did not cease ; most likely 
the agony of suspense overpowered my senses and I slept 
from sheer exhaustion. 

On waking for the third time I was in no uncertainty as 
to another’s presence. A firm hand had me by the shoulder 
and was shaking me so roughly that I jumped on end. 

“ D’j^e mean to lie a’ day ? Ye’re desperate fond o' yer 
new bed.” 

Florrie was the speaker, and as the loft was lit, though 
feebly, by her lantern, I could see her well enough the instant 
I opened my eyes. Yet the night’s terrors were so near me 
still that they returned at the shock of the rude awakening. 
Florrie, divining nothing of my state, went on without 
sympathy ; 

” Dinna hae us waitin’ anither minute or it's a stick ye’ll 
get to yer back. There’s yer new claes. And when ye come 
oot, fling yer auld anes in the bine at the kitchen door. Tak' 


42 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


my lamp/' she added, when I told her I had no matches, and 
she laid her lantern at the stair-head to let her see her way 
down. 

There was no time to examine my new raiment. As she 
helped me to fill the milk-cans, she laughed and declared I 
was a dandy, but I gave my dress no attention till after I 
returned from Craigkenneth. By the time I had got break- 
fast and mucked the byre, it was daylight, and the odd horse, 
old Roy, had to be yoked. The men, each with his pair, 
were bound for Bankier siding to lift a truck of coals, and I 
was to accompany them with one cart. Two Irishwomen 
had come to dress potatoes, and they passed us in the court as 
old Nicol was giving us our orders. 

“ Save us, and that's niver little Jamie," cried hook-nosed 
Biddy, surveying my costume. " Sure, you've been to Noah's 
ark for that fancy-suit. I’d give you a new shilling for luck, 
only I’ve nothing less than a foive-pound note in my pocket 
at prisent.” 

" Sure, them’s iligant breeches," said her neighbour ; 
" and, if I hadn’t a large family of me own, I’d adopt you on 
the spot. That's instid of the new shilling." And she gave 
my leg a shrewd nip. 

The clothes had been old Nicol's, and even he had cast them 
off as done. Florrie and the mistress had adapted the trousers 
to my figure by simply cutting a part off the legs and had 
turned the old coat into a jacket by depriving it of the tails. 
The waistcoat, which had not been tampered with, reached 
midway to my knees. The men encouraged the two crones 
in their ridicule, Nicol himself sharing in the joke. He had 
lent me his kirk-suit, he explained, my own having met with 
an accident. 

" It bates me how you had the heart to part with them,” 
Biddy declared. " There’s a loif e-time’s wear in them yet 
and they’re the very height of fashion ; ’’ and the banter 
would have lasted till the carts started had not Florrie 
appeared at the mouth of the shed and made a diversion. 

" Yon’s surely the Wanderer," she said, following with her 
eye a figure that was traihng itself up the Lang Stracht. 

All came out to look, some of them shading their eyes with 
their hands though there was no sun. 

" Yis, sure, it’s the Wanderer’s own silf," Biddy corro- 
borated ; and Bob remarked. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


43 

” I was wonderin’ what had come ower her ; I ha vena seen 
her for months.” 

The others took up the new topic and I was spared further 
ridicule. 

I was not interested in the Wanderer, though, like other 
farm-hands of the shire, I knew her history. She belonged 
to the district, had been well educated, and meant for some 
genteel calling. However, she chose farm-service, and was 
soon known to all the ploughmen in the countryside. Not 
only did she bring them about the farms where she served, 
she went as freely among them, spending many a night in 
their bothies. In a few years she was so notorious that no 
farmer would keep her ; besides, she had lost the way of 
constant work. She supported herself a while by odd labour, 
taking a week at harvesting, potato-lifting and the like, and 
lodging in the hamlets round Craigkenneth, or in the Wynds 
of Craigkenneth itself if no bothy was available. In time she 
got utterly broken-down, dropped even the pretence of work, 
and sank to a common tramp. 

” The dirty drab ! ” said Florrie viciously in the midst of 
the talk. ” Nae wonder her ain faither wadna look at her. 
He was in a guid position, I suppose. Wasn’t he heid-forester 
at Shirgarvie ? ” 

” He was a damned sleekit auld hypocrite, if ye ask me,” 
Bob declared with an energy unusual for him. 

” But her mither never looked at her either,” rejoined 
Florrie quickly. 

” That was her step-mither ; her ain mither dee’d when she 
was a lassie. That’s no yesterday either, for the Wanderer ’ll 
be — let’s see — she’ll be ” 

” Never heed what she’ll be. Bob,” the old farmer broke in ; 
” you just slip awa’ noo that ye’re yoket and never fash yer 
heid aboot the Wanderer. We got enough o’ her when she 
served at the Mailing.” 

The group had no chance of renewing their merriment at 
my expense. Yet their ridicule left me miserable. I had 
lately been more careful about my appearance, and here was 
I turned into a scarecrow that a ragged wretch like old Biddy 
had a right to laugh at. The whole way to Banlder Lye I 
kept in the cart, though the two men got down at intervals to 
restore themselves to heat. But returning with the full carts 
we had to walk, and I fancied that everybody we met in decent 


44 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


dress was amused at the figure I made. It was a relief to en- 
counter an occasional tramp ; he could not banter me, could 
not eye me contemptuously ; his costume would be almost as 
weathered and ill-fitting as my own. Above all, I dreaded to 
meet Miss Maymie. How could I look free and man-like in 
old Nicol's cast-off habiliments ? I scanned the road every 
minute, ready to slink under cover of Roy should the fair 
rider appear. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


45 


CHAPTER VI 

T he shame I felt at my scarecrow appearance could 
not keep another trouble from agitating me that 
day. How was I to get through a second night in 
the loft ? I was quite aware my terrors had been 
imaginary ; the daylight had banished them. Yet they 
would return with the dark and to bear them another night 
was beyond me. The horses or cattle would be company. 
But the stable was locked after eight o’clock and the key hung 
in the bothy. The byre was not locked and it was always 
warm with the cows’ breath ; only, there was the risk of dis- 
covery ; I might sleep in and be found there in the morning. 

Ere night came I had found a plan. I must still sleep in 
the barn-loft, but might I not have company there ? Our 
old collie was never chained ; he was very fond of me and 
would not need much enticement to share my quarters ; 
indeed, the loft would be more comfortable than the old barrel 
in the court that served for his kennel. I hung about the 
kitchen door till pretty late, and when the kitchen was empty 
for a minute I darted in, made for the press, and grabbed two 
new-baked scones. Ranger needed no coaxing ; he was soon 
in bed with me, and he both kept me warm and banished all 
eerieness. That night my waking dreams flowed free ; Miss 
Maymie was with me long. The barn-loft, a short while 
before so dreaded, was like to be a glad haven in my sea of 
trouble. 

But that same week — it was the last day of the year but 
one — I learned my mistake. A Craigkenneth dealer, who had 
bought one of Nicol’s potato-pits, was out opening it and the 
farmer’s hands were helping. The pit had first to be stripped. 
The outmost covering was of old potato-shaws, a fence against 
frost. These I was to clear away, and I soon bared as much 
of the pit as we were likely to lift that day. Below was a 


46 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


blanket of earth at least half a foot thick. Big Pate cut this 
away with a spade and, as the keen frost of the last week had 
gone through the shaws, the crusted coat came off in slabs 
a yard long. The earth inside was not affected ; it was quite 
soft and powdery. Under this, again, was a layer of straw 
which had to be rolled back carefully or loose earth might 
drop among the potatoes and make extra work. Now the 
lifting began. Walls, the dealer, used a harp, that is, a shovel 
with a blade of steel spars to let the earth through. He pressed 
it in gently, taking care neither to keep it too close to the 
ground and so lift the earth, nor yet to hold it high and slice 
the potatoes. On either side stood a woman with a riddle, 
into which the harpful was emptied. She gave the riddle a 
shake to let the small potatoes through ; the remainder she 
dressed, flinging the rotten ones down behind her, the diseased 
ones into a scull set between her and her neighbour, and the 
sound ones into another scull at her side. My task w^as to 
empty the sculls. The sound potatoes went into sacks, the 
diseased into a cart that stood near by unyoked. When a 
sack looked about full. Big Pate lifted it on to the weighs, and 
as soon as it reached the standard, a hundredweight and 
a half, he tied it and set it a-row with the rest. Commonly, 
two men take the full sack if it has to be carried any distance. 
Pate would have no help. Locking his arms round the sack 
he lifted it, holding it close against his front, and so carried 
it off. If he did not spare himself, he had still less feeling for 
me. The two women were expert dressers and I could do no 
more than keep up with them ; so when Bauldy Aitken, who 
had come down from the hill-country for a load, took a third 
riddle, I was fairly beaten. Every now and then the sculls 
were running over and the work had to stop. It was some 
time ere Big Pate noticed this ; when he did, he gave me a 
cuff that knocked me over. 

Little Bauldy had not understood that he was the cause of 
the trouble. He offered now to help me, and when Pate told 
him to mind his own work he laughingly declared that Pate 
was not his gaffer. 

“ No, but Tm his," was Pate's answer, and his look and tone 
taught me that I had better struggle on unaided. 

The women told him frankly enough what they thought of 
his ill-usage ; it was a " damned shame." The dealer said 
nothing ; he would be frightened, maybe, that Pate might 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


47 


put in a word against him with old Nicol and keep him from 
getting the rest of the pits at the same figure. 

Wee Bauldy could not bear to see my desperate struggles. 
He told his companions in an undertone that he would knock 
off and the three of them might then slow down till I caught 
up on them. 

“ Whaur are ye bound for ? ” Pate demanded, seeing him 
turn away, and Bauldy gave as excuse that he had to see old 
Nick about two queys which his master wanted to sell. 

Though Walls and the two women took Bauldy’s hint, my 
task was still as painful. The unyoked cart was getting full of 
diseased potatoes. To empty the sculls had been easy at 
first ; I had only to tip them over the cart-edge. Now I 
had to fling the potatoes well into the body of the cart for fear 
they should run over. A scull, remember, held four stone, 
and was a fair weight of itself. As I toiled on I began to feel 
a dull pain low down on my right side ; soon it grew acute and, 
in the moments of severest strain, almost unbearable. Every 
time I had to turn to the cart my heart sank. How should 
I manage this one scull more ? Should I manage it at all ? 
Here is how I may best describe the pain in my side : when I 
was making an extra effort I felt as if something inside me 
might give way. All the while, too, I tried to hide the weak- 
ness from my fellow-workers ; I dreaded to get the name of 
being lazy or even useless. Oh, the agony ! And what relief 
when Walls pronounced the first cart to be full enough and, 
Big Pate not contradicting, told me to start the second. 

The pain in my side did not ease during working-hours or 
even when we knocked off at darkening. It alarmed me. If 
this lasted I should be unfit for work, and what would become 
of me then ? Nicol would not keep me about his town, kin 
to him as I was ; and if he turned me out, what stranger 
would take me in ? I should be left to die at the roadside. 
Maybe I was doomed already ; the pain was unlike anything 
I had ever known ; I began to fear it was past cure. Even if 
it were not, what could be done ? Who was to do anything ? 
The very women would not bother with me. Had the sore 
been visible, had my side been torn, had bones been broken, 
they might have tried some remedy or called in a doctor ; 
but I could tell them only of pain and they would think the 
hurt a trifle, perhaps an excuse for idleness. If anything was 
to be done for my ease it must be by myself. As I sat at 


48 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


supper, unable, for once, to clear my dish, thought was work- 
ing. What was there about the farm likely to relieve the 
pain ? Anything to be prepared ? Anything to be stolen ? 
Oil ? Plenty of that ; but was not that too weak a thing ? 
I had it ! There was the cure at my hand. Porridge for a 
poultice ! Old Phemie gave me a big plate of oatmeal porridge 
morning and night ; it was the only dish she did not stint ; 
and this evening I had hardly touched the plate and was about 
to set it down for Ranger. I tumbled the mess into my red 
handkerchief and stuffed it in my pocket. It was nearly 
three hours later ere I got up to the barn-loft, and of course 
the porridge was cold as clay. For this, too, I was ready. 
After the first night in my new quarters I had procured a 
stable-lantern to let me see when going to bed and rising ; 
once even, when Ranger had deserted me, I had let it burn 
the whole night, merely stuffing the slit in the wall to keep it 
from shining into the court. Taking the same precaution, 
I lit it now and held the porridge over it in my handkerchief. 
When the porridge was well heated, I clapped it on the sore. 
The warmth was grateful ; I knew no other benefit. Later, 
I heated the mess a second, and, after an interval, a third 
time. The pain had sensibly lessened, had grown bearable 
indeed, and as I was too tired for more doctoring, I blew out 
the lantern and, bestowing a moment on Miss Maymie, was 
soon asleep. 

I woke disturbed. Ranger, huddled beside me under the 
clothes, was growling, and soon he kept his head lifted, listening 
to some sound from the stackyard. Tramps would be about 
Old Nicol did his utmost to discourage them, but he could not 
banish them altogether. I hushed the dog, for I wanted to 
sleep. Soon he let out a sharp yelp, and to my wonder a 
voice from the stackyard responded in the purest accent, 

“ Ranger, Ranger, don’t you know me ? ” 

Instantly the dog was silent, and when the speaker added, 
“ Is that how you treat your friends ? ” he gave a grunt or 
two of pleased recognition. 

The voice did not belong to anybody at the Mailing. Had 
the language and accent been those of a tramp I should not 
have been surprised that he knew the dog’s name ; a person 
in the habit of taking the farm on his round might easily 
know that. More surprising was it that the dog should recog- 
nise the voice. Still, Ranger was a wise old fellow and 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


49 


such acuteness was not beyond him. Yet my astonishment 
was unspeakable ; I was bewildered. The voice — the voice 
it was that thrilled me. That voice ! Was I dreaming ? 
Was I still dreaming, still asleep ? I felt lost. After waiting 
a little, seated in bed and assuring myself that I was really 
awake, I got out, drew on my trousers, and groped towards 
the bole that opened on to the stackyard. The bole was in a 
corner of the loft and was used for pitching the sheaves through 
when our own mill was threshing. It was just a window, 
except that it was closed with wood instead of a glass sash. 
As I opened it I caught the sound of someone moving beneath. 
Ranger was beside me and perfectly quiet. Stealthily, my 
fingers scarcely able to work for excitement, I opened the 
shutter ; but the night was black ; I could see nothing. 
The person had not heard me, at least had not heeded me ; 
the movements were now further off, in the mill-ring. I 
coughed : no response. I coughed louder, dreading to alarm 
the young dog in the court and rouse the farmer’s folk, dread- 
ing yet more to miss the wondrous chance. The steps, 
evidently feeling their way and sometimes stumbling, were 
making towards me, and I coughed once more to guide them. 

“ Have you got lost ? ” Tasked in a loud whisper, involun- 
tarily speaking in the pure accent of the one I addressed. 
Silence a short while. Then the answer, 

“ Yes, I’m lost, quite lost.” 

The voice again ! I could not mistake it. So light, so bird- 
like, with the chuckle in it even now, only subdued by trouble. 
Emotion made my own voice falter. Yet love taught there 
must be no delay, and I asked, speaking as correctly as I could, 
” You’ll stop with me for the night ? ” 

” Of course,” the dear voice answered, ” Isn’t that what 
I’m here for ? ” 

Of course. And I, fool-like, was wasting time in talk when 
my queen, by some strange chance — some awful cruelty to 
her but wondrous fortune to me — stood below in the cold and 
the dark, outcast from her grand house, her rich parents. 
Not an instant to waste : she must be sheltered, tended, at 
once. But how to get her into shelter ? I durst not go down 
into the court and bring her round ; to alarm the inmates of 
the house or the bothy must not be risked. She must enter 
by the bole, and that was only possible with a ladder. 

Could you ? ” I began, but stopped myself. I was going 

e; 


50 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


to ask if she could find the ladder in the mill-ring and set it up. 
Such a question ! How could Miss Maymie handle a ladder ? 
There was no rope to let me down ; I must drop it, though I 
broke my legs. As I was kneeling to clutch the stone sill 
another means suggested itself — the mill. I groped along to 
it, squeezed through the opening in the wall, and striding one 
of the beams that connected the machinery with the horse- 
gear, slid down into the middle of the mill-ring. The ladder, 
I knew, lay near the water-cart ; I soon found it, though a 
frosty fog obscured everything, and with the ladder on my 
shoulder I joined Miss Maymie below the loft-bole. At the 
very first trial I felt the top of the ladder fall into the opening. 
No time to talk ; that would come when she was safe and in 
comfort. 

“I’ll steady it till you get up,” I directed her. “ Keep 
your head bent when you get in, for the bole’s not very high.’’ 

“ I know, I know,’’ she assured me quickly. 

“ And when you get on to the floor, don’t stir till I come up, 
for you might hurt yourself in the dark. Let me start you,’’ I 
added, knowing she was ready to mount, and as I put out my 
hand to touch her, to touch her for the first time in my life, to 
touch her as I had dreamed a thousand and a thousand times, 
I shook like one in palsy. But the moment I touched her the 
feeling passed, though that which succeeded was intenser 
still. The lover’s emotion changed to melting pity. For 
what had her cruel parents done ? Not cast her out only, 
but cast her out in ragged, filthy clothes. My hand, resting 
on her waist, told me that ; I felt the tattered edge of a shawl 
and the coarse waistband of a petticoat. Oh, what marvel 
of cruelty had been here ! What had changed her parents’ 
mood — those parents who had always seemed so proud of her ? 
What had made them drive her out and with all the marks of 
shame ? Oh, why had they done this to my own Miss Maymie ? 
Oh, how they had used my darling ! 

Yet love like mine knows no remissness. Though wonder 
and indignant pity were strong, I did not slacken my activity 
to indulge them. All yielded to the one master-emotion — 
desire to serve her, desire to do her good. With scarcely a 
moment’s loss I went on with my preparations for her safety. 

“ You’ll tell me when you get to the top,’’ I said, though 
tears choked my voice ; “ and — and you’ll just whisper in case 
folk should hear.’’ 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


51 

*‘111 let you know ; ” and it was not long till the call came 
softly from above, “ Fm all right. Fm waiting for you.*’ 

Waiting for me ! Never in my most delicious dreams had 
I listened to those words. I seemed to leave the ground on 
wings, and an instant was enough to move the top of the ladder 
aside and shut the bole. An instant ! Yet in the time 
thoughts had flooded my brain. She was here, beside me, to 
be sheltered, cherished. I should hear the strange story, 
learn what evil power had changed her parents’ fondness to 
venomous hate. I should hear, too, how she had learned my 
whereabouts. And once this was told we should put the 
sorrow by for ever and begin a new sweet tale, repeating with 
living voice all the dear longings we had so often told each 
other in dreams. With trembling fingers I drew out my match- 
box and made ready to light the lantern. At last ! The 
darkness was to part and in the light I should look into her 
eyes. Should I have strength to meet them ? Yes ; for they 
would be charged with trustful love. Yet, for all my fancied 
courage, it was not till the wick burned high that I ven- 
tured to look up. Then — then I had a shock such as I had 
never known and such as life can hardly have in store. I had 
looked up to behold the pure sunny face of my beloved, and 
what — terrors of darkness ! — what did I see ? The watery 
eyes, the blotched swollen cheeks of a wretch ravaged with 
debauchery and disease. The lamp fell to the floor though it 
still burned, and the horror that made me shrink must have 
been starting from my eyes, for the woman demanded, 

“ What the hell’s wrang wi’ ye ? And wha the hell are you, 
onyway ? ” 

The change of speech, following the awful contrast between 
her fancied looks and the reality, raised my bewilderment to 
such a pitch that sense nearly left me. Had some fiendish 
power touched Miss Maymie since I left her at the ladder-foot, 
turning her from a fair sweet maiden into this vile hag ? Yet 
strange ! The voice was still hers, even when sharpened 
by impatience and uttering rough oaths in the broadest accent. 
Thought could do nothing with the mystery. I stood and 
stared on. 

“ Pick up the lamp,” said the woman, ” instead o’ glowerin’ 
there like a wild-cat. Is that yer bed ? ” and she threw 
herself on it as if exhausted. ” My God ! that’s fine. But 
wha are you ? ” she asked once more. 


52 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ I’m — I’m the laddie,” I managed to answer. 

You’re the laddie,” she repeated contemptuously. ''Ye 
ha vena been here long ? ” 

'' Just since the May Term.” 

” Damned if I didna tak’ ye for some young swell when I 
heard ye speak first. They used to hae a rich body’s son here 
that paid for learnin’ farmin’. Ye didna speak like a farm- 
laddie.” 

The talk had composed me. This was a fiesh-and-blood 
being after all. Something mysterious there was about her 
still, but nothing supernatural. My voice was steadier as I 
answered, 

‘‘ Mebbe no. I thocht it was ” 

But I stopped in confusion. I had nearly given away my 
secret. 

'' Wha did you think I was ? ” she demanded. " Ye’ve 
had hizzies here afore. Ye’re young to be at that game ; 
young for a laddie, on5nvay.” 

Something moved me to protest. 

" There’s never been a lassie here except ” 

'' Ay, except ” she sneered, as I interrupted myself 

once more. 

'' Except Florrie,” I went on ; and she just cam’ to wauken 
me.” 

'' Ay ; ye’re ower tender a chicken for her to pick. Pate 
Mackinlay ’ll be mair to her taste. Is 't true that she’s cairryin’ 
on wi’ him ? ” Reading the answer in my eyes she continued, 
" Weel, she’s welcome to him. My curse on them baith.’' 

Then she seemed to have an absent fit. She was thoughtful, 
at least silent. In a little she began stroking the dog that had 
lain down near her. 

''So ye kent me again, auld man ? You’re the only lad 
that hasna forgotten me.” 

Here curiosity, which had grown strong, prompted me to 
say, 

" I didna ken ye either, at first.” 

'* No ? Weel, it’s gey dark ootside.” 

'' But I dinna ken ye yet.” 

"Ye what ! I thocht a’body atween Perth and Peebles 
kent me.” 

" I never saw ye in my life,” I assured her.” 

" Did ye never hear tell o’ the Wanderer ? ” 


53 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

Ay,” was all I could answer. 

“ I thocht sae,” and she gave a hard laugh. “ Weel, that's 
me. A'body’s heard o' me and damned little guid." She 
seemed about to say something more but checked herself as 
if it were not worth while, and fetching a deep sigh she re- 
sumed fondling the dog that was pressing his muzzle into her 
lap. “ Ay, ay. So Ranger never forgets Auld Lang Syne. 
And ye needna, my man ; for I was gey guid to ye." 

" Ye used to serve here, didn't ye ? " I asked. 

" I did that, but me and auld Phemie were aye quarrellin' 
and I ran awa' She keepet my fee and wanted to keep my 
kist as weel. So it’s but fair she should gie me free lodgings 
at orra times." She had been yawning occasionally, and the 
turn of the talk may have recalled her weariness, for she 
stretched herself on the bed as if preparing for sleep. But 
her eye catching the handkerchief that lay on the sacks, 

" What’s this ? ’’ she asked. " Parritch ? My God ! the 
very thing I was wantin’." 

" Dinna," I cried. " I had them on." 

“ Had ye ? ’’ she asked composedly, but only after she had 
gulped a greedy mouthful. Nor did she speak a word more till 
she had licked the last morsel from the handkerchief. " That’s 
better," she then remarked with a deep breath of comfort, 
" Ye see, my laddie," she continued, reading disgust in my 
face, "we canna be particular when we’re perishin'. What was 
the parritch for ? Are ye no weel ? ’’ 

" I’ve a sair side." 

" And I’ve eaten yer poultice," and she gave a laugh. 
" That’s hard on ye, but I never thocht o’t at the minute." 

I explained that I was done with the poultice ; my side was 
a little better. 

" Mustard’s a faur stronger thing," the Wanderer remarked, 
speaking carelessly and yawning again. "I’ll lie doon," she 
went on. " But this ’ll be your bed. I maunna tak’ it frae 
ye like the parritch. Gie us thae sacks and I’ll lie doon there ; " 
and she indicated a space further along. " I’m as tired as a 
draigled bitch.” Without waiting for leave she threw the 
sacks on the floor and lay down above them with no covering. 
Her clothes were a brown shawl and a grey striped petticoat, 
both very ragged. She had on a pair of elastic-sided boots, 
gone both in sole and upper. As covering for her head she 
had only her hair which, soiled and straggling, was still golden. 


54 the story of A PLOUGHBOY 

For several reasons I was unwilling to let her stay in the 
loft. 

“ Hoo will ye manage in the mornin' ? " I asked, seeing she 
would soon be asleep. “ If they catch ye here, they’ll be 
wild.” 

” They canna dae muckle to me ; they can hardly mak’ me 
waur than I am.” 

” No ; but I’ll catch it.” 

” Maybe,” was her careless answer. The next moment, 
however, she asked, ” When d’ye get up in the morning ? ” 
Five o’clock. Florrie waukens me. She opens the barn- 
door doon below, and if I hear her she’ll no come up and it’ll 
be a’ richt. But if I dinna, she’ll come up and she’ll catch 
ye, for she aye carries a licht.” 

” Oh, we’ll hear her, either you or me.” 

” But hoo will ye get awa’ ? The best time wad be just 
when I rise, for the men dinna get up for anither hauf-oor. 
I’ll open the bole and draw the ladder ower and ye’ll get doon 
weel enough.” 

” Oh, ay, we'll manage,” she said in a drowsy voice, and 
soon her heavy breathing told me she was asleep. 

I looked at her once or twice as I arranged my bed-clothes 
and made ready to lie down. All the folk I had heard talk 
of her had said she had once been pretty, and it may have been 
their judgment that made me fancy there were remnants of 
beauty in the face. Her features had certainly been good ; 
the mouth was small, the nose shapely, and now that her 
bleared eyes were shut they did not cUsgust me with their 
hideous coarseness. Or maybe I viewed her somewhat 
favourably for having confounded her with my queen. Both 
had one voice, and whoever shared in anything with Miss 
Maymie had a certain interest for me. However, I was too 
tired and indeed too indifferent to watch her long. And when 
I lay down I found something else to give me concern ; the 
pain in my side, that had slept or had been forgotten, woke 
once more. In spite of my weariness I only drowsed by 
snatches, and I was awake when Florrie opened the barn-door. 
I shook up the Wanderer and told her she must go. She 
yawned and promised to leave in time enough : she knew 
the place, she would take care not to be seen. But I was 
inflexible, and she had to make for the bole. 

“ Ye’ll no bolt it ? ” she asked rather anxiously, as she 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


55 

turned to descend the ladder. “I’ll mebbe need to come back 
sune.” 

I hesitated. It was hard to refuse such a small kindness, 
yet I feared discovery. Ere I had an answer ready, she said 
in the pure speech and coaxing tone she had used at the first 
to Ranger, 

“ Come now, you’ll surely do that for me, my bonnie boy.” 

Doubtless that tone had cajoled many a lover. On me, 
too, it had power, though for a reason the woman could not 
know. The likeness to Miss Maymie’s speech and voice was 
again startling. Offered in such accents any petition, how- 
ever hard, must have reached my heart. 

“Yes, I’ll leave it open. But quick, quick ! ” 


56 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER VII 

W ALLS was again out at the potato-pits and Big 
Pate and I were helping. The pain in my side 
was worse than ever. One thought alone kept me 
up — to-morrow was New Year and a holiday. 
At supper I recalled the Wanderer's hint, and stole some dry 
mustard from the press as well as a piece of fresh butter from 
the table. It was late ere I was free to use them. The men 
were making ready for to-morrow. Pate would be spending 
the day in Craigkenneth, and Bob was going to his parents’ 
at Aletown. Both had to shave and I had a part to take in 
the performance. The bothy looking-glass had been smashed 
long ago and only a fragment, an inch and a half square, sur- 
vived. As this could not be hung up and could not well be 
set on the table or mantelpiece, &g Pate made me stand in 
front of him on shaving-nights and hold the glass. Bob made 
me do the same. I had to tidy up, of course, when the shaving 
was over. This evening, instead of replacing the jug on the 
shelf, I left some boiling water in it and carried it off unob- 
served. The Wanderer was already in the barn-loft, lying on 
the sacks. She had been mouching about Lucas and had 
made nearly two shillings. People gave more freely at New 
Year time, I suppose ; Mr. Ralston of Cambuslochan, for 
instance, had given a sixpence. The Wanderer's breath told 
me how some of the coin had been melted. 

Ye’ve been drinkin’,” I remarked as I smoothed a rag on 
the floor to hold the mustard. 

“ I had twa haufs at Lucas in the forenoon and twa glass at 
nicht,” she confessed coolly. 

“ But ye’re no drunk.” 

I couldna get drunk noo if I tried. What’s this ? ” and 
she clutched the jug. 

I explained what it was for, and her disappointment made 
her lose interest in my movements. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


57 


“ Hoo d’ye mak’ a blister ? ” I asked at last, for I was in 
doubt whether to spread the mustard on the cloth and run 
water on it or moisten it in the water first. 

“ Let me dae ’t. Men folk have nae hauns. Have ye no 
a spoon ? ” And she knelt on the floor where the ragful of 
mustard was spread. 

“ No. I’ve a knife, though, if that’ll dae.” 

” Haud yer hauns, then,” and when I held them close, palm 
upwards, she shook the mustard into them, and slaked it 
with a little water. Then she used the knife-blade to transfer 
the mustard to the cloth after softening the rag with some of 
the fresh butter. “ Noo strip and lie doon ; I’ll be yer nurse. 
Ye never had a woman to nurse ye. I’ll gae bail,” she went on 
in a lively strain, for whatever she might say the whisky had 
touched her head. ” Eh, ye dinna ken ye’re born yet, ye 
puir bit wastrel. Noo, just lay yer haun on the sair bit. 
There ; that’ll seek the sair or my name’s no — no the 
Wanderer.” 

The heat was pleasant at first, and, thankful for her offices, 
I asked, 

” What’s yer first name ? ” 

” They used to ca’ me Mary,” she answered and sighed. 
I had no need to ask her surname, for I knew that the late 
head forester at Shirgarvie was called Morrison. 

” That’s a bonnie name — Mary ; it’s the bonniest name of 
a’ — maistly.” But the mustard began to make itself felt and 
gave my thoughts a new turn. “ It’s gey hot. Will ’t sune 
be time to tak’ it off ? ” 

She laughed. “ It’s a guid sign when it’s nippin’. Let it 
bite awa’, only dinna fa’ asleep wi’t on.” 

I bore the fiery pain with all my resolution, though at times 
I had to hold the cloth off my body. Only when the Wanderer 
gave me leave, did I remove it altogether. I rubbed the place 
with what butter was left, but there was no sleep for me that 
night, and Florrie did not need to call me twice. 

The Wanderer looked my side as I was putting on my 
clothes. The skin was whole, though glowing-red, and the 
old pain seemed gone. Perhaps, however, it was only 
mastered for the time by the fiery torture that had super- 
vened. It was too soon to tell. 

” Get some floor and strinkle, ’t on ’t,” my nurse advised. 
” That'll tak’ oot the heat. And noo ye maun wish me a 


58 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Guid New Year, Jamie,” she went on in the lively manner of 
the night before. 

I grew suspicious ; I knew the class to which the Wanderer 
and myself belonged. 

“ Have ye a bottle wi’ ye ? ” I demanded. 

She merely laughed for answer. In a little she said, 

“ So the drink's provided and there’s only the meat to fend 
for. And you’ll have to look after that.” 

” Ye’re no gaun to stop here a’ day ? ” I asked. 

” Deed am I,” she said with another laugh. ” Ye widna 
turn me oot after me nursin’ ye last nicht ? ” 

I had not wanted company in the loft that day. After I 
returned with the milk-cart and had breakfasted I should only 
have to muck the byre. Then I might go where I chose. I 
meant to spend the day in the loft resting myself and dreaming 
about Miss Maymie. And my dreams would flow more free 
were I alone. 

But in our talk the night before I had mentioned that the 
farm-hands would all be away for the day. So there was no 
fear of discovery, the Wanderer reminded me. 

” But hoo can I get ye ony meat ? ” I asked, offering the 
worst difficulty I could think of. 

“ Fine that,” she assured me. ” Auld Phemie has an open 
haun on New Year’s Day and ye maun watch your chance.” 

At Abbot’s Mailing, as on many farms, it was the New Year 
custom for all the hands to breakfast together in the kitchen 
ere leaving to enjoy themselves for the day. I had often 
heard that old Phemie kept all her hospitality for that one 
morning, and I found it true. There was a great ashetful of 
ham and eggs, an enormous steak-pie, and, when the eating 
was over, the whisky-bottle went round. I stuffed my pockets 
on the sly, and as soon as I thought it safe I made for the loft, 
resolved not to leave it that day. Though the light was not 
good even at noon, it let me see the Wanderer’s features more 
distinctly than I had ever done by lantern-light — an unlucky 
thing for us both, for the debauched face was always dispelling 
the illusion created by the sweet voice. I tried not to look 
at her. 

" Ye’ve an awfu’ nice voice,” I remarked to her once as 
we lay talking, she having the sacks, I the rugs. 

” It’s the only thing aboot me that’s no fair ruined,” she 
answered. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


59 


Fve heard a voice like it/' I ventured to sav. 

‘‘Whaur?" 

Fni — Fm no sure,” I said, for I might play with my secret 
but would never let it out ; “I couldna say. But it minds 
me o’ somebody that speaks like you.” 

“ Ay, but can they sing like me ? ” and she sat up and 
cleared her throat as if to start. 

” Dinna, dinna,” I begged ; ” they’ll hear ye.” 

Without heeding me she started, though she had the 
prudence to keep her voice low : 

“ O Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish’d, the trysted hour ; 

Those smiles and glances let me see 
That mak’ the miser’s treasure poor. 

'* How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun. 

Could I the rich reward secure. 

The lovely Mary Morison.” 

” Naebody ever made a sang aboot you, Jamie,” she said 
jestingly, and she waited a little to get my praise. 

“It’s fine, Mary ; it’s first-rate,” I assured her, though I 
was hardly sincere. Her voice was not so pure when she sang. 
She must have been satisfied, however, for rising to her feet 
she sang on : 

** Yestreen, when to the trembling string 
The dance gaed thro’ the lighted ha’, 

To thee my fancy took its wing, 

I sat, but neither heard nor saw. 

Tho’ this was fair, and that was braw, 

And yon the toast o’ a’ the town, 

I sighed and said among them a’, 

‘ Ye are na Mary Morison.’ ” 

She was so excited by now that she neither waited for my 
applause nor gave a thought to caution. Letting her voice 
go she ended the song ; 

“ O Mary, canst thou wreck his peace 
Wha for thy sake would gladly dee? 

Or canst thou break that heart of his 
Whase only fault is loving thee ? 

If love for love thou wilt not gie 
At least be pity to me shown ; 

A thought ungentle canna be 
The thought o’ Mary Morison.” 


6o 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


As she ended, the Wanderer sank on the bed and looked to 
me with a triumphant air. I again managed to say it was 
fine, grand,” and did not hint that the lurking roughness 
in her voice had come out the more as she strained it. The 
Wanderer was quite pleased with herself and with me. 

“ Mony’s the ane has played that sang in my honour, 
Jamie,” she informed me, and her voice was full of self- 
complacency. “ Mony and mony a time they’ve gien me ’t 
on the concertina. Ay, and I’ve heard it on mair than the 
concertina. I didna aye stick to ploughmen, ye maun 
ken ; I’ve passed through higher hauns. What wad ye say 
to my being a captain’s leddy ? ” As I did not reply, she 
went on, “ Ay, and nae faurer awa’ than Craigkenneth. The 
captain — never heed the name; we’ll just ca’him the captain 
— has picked me aff the street afore noo and driven me wi’ 
him in a cab. Ay, and mony’s the nicht I’ve spent wi’ him 
in the castle.” 

” Hoo did ye get in ? ” I asked, not that I was curious but 
I saw that my companion wanted to talk and expected me to 
show some interest. “ Did the sentry no stop ye ? ” 

The sentry durst na cheep. But we had plenty o’ tricks, 
onyway. I’ve gane in as a flesher’s laddie wi’ a basket on my 
heid, and I’ve gane in as a post-ofiice laddie wi’ a telegram, 
and I’ve gane in as a leddy- visitor wantin’ to see through 
the castle, and I’ve stayed in the captain’s quarters for days 
on end. The roughest passage ever I had was ae nicht or 
rather ae mornin’ when the young blades were frichtet, or 
pretended they were frichtet, for the sentry tellin’ the colonel. 
Ye’ll never guess what they did. They got a long rope and a 
basket — it was a bonnie simmer mornin’ I mind — and they 
let me ower the wa’ and doon the rocks. Ye’ve heard o’ the 
man that was let doon — but ye'll never gang to a kirk ? ” 
No ; but I ken wha ye mean. I’ve read it at the schule.” 
” Weel, I escaped like him. Such lauchin’ the young 
scamps had ! I was a bit eerie, though. So ye see, Jamie, 
my man. I’ve keepet guid company in my day.” 

I might have heard of other escapades had I been curious. 
One question I did put, though not till later. 

” Mary,” I asked, as we were talking in the evening when 
the liquor was no longer in her head, ” was ’t the captain that 
learned ye to speak proper ? ” 

” I’m no speakin’ proper,” she said in some surprise. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


6i 


“ No ; but ye whiles dae *t. Was ’t the captain that learned 
ye ? - 

He would help, I daresay,” she answered, changing her 
speech involuntarily ; “ though I could speak well enough 
before I saw him. I was at the school till I was near sixteen. 
I was a pupil-teacher.” 

Oh ay, I forgot.” 

“ What did ye forget ? ” she demanded. 

“ Fve heard folk speak aboot ye and say ye were cornin’ oot 
for a teacher.” 

“ So I was, and that’s hoo I can be a guid speaker when I 
like. But nae doot the captain put the heid-sheaf on my 
education. He was gey fond o’ me, and I daursay I micht 
ha’ been wi’ him yet. But I never cared for gentry or gentry’s 
ways. Gie me a ploughman. Even when I was a pupil- 
teacher ” 

But I brought her back to what interested myself. 

” I like to hear you speak proper.” 

What do you know about ‘ speaking proper ’ ? ” 

’‘You said yourself that I spoke like a swell,” I reminded 
her. ” I was the best scholar at Tiptoy school, and the 
teacher was wild when Nicol made me leave and come to the 
Mailing. And I write a’ Nicol’s business letters for him.” 

“ What right had auld Nick to make you leave ? ” she asked 
in some surprise. 

” He’s my uncle.” 

” Your uncle ! ” 

” Yes. At least in a kind of way. He was my mother’s 
uncle.” 

” Your mother’s uncle ! ” and her interest and astonishment 
had increased. “You don’t mean to say your mother was 
Mary Gow ? ” 

” Yes ; her name was Mary. My father’s name was 
Bryce.” 

” Jamie Bryce. Your mother ran off with him. He was 
just a ploughman.” 

” So I’ve been told. But he died before I can mind of him, 
and my mother has been dead a long time too.” 

” I know ; I’ve seen them both, though I never knew them 
to speak to. Your mother had to gang to service efter her 
man dee’d, had she no ? ” 

“ Ay ; and I was brocht up with frien’s o’ my faither's at 


62 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Tiptoy. But they were glad enough when Nicol wanted me, 
for they were puir and couldna keep themsers." 

" Then you and Pate Mackinlay ’ll be connecket tae,” said 
the Wanderer, as if a new thought had come into her head. 
“ Let’s see. He’s a nephew o’ auld Nick’s, so he would be yer 
mither’s cousin.” 

” Ay.” 

” That accounts for ’t,” she said in a tone of conviction. 

” Accounts for what ? ” 

” For the way he treats ye. He’ll no want ye here ; he’ll 
think there’s a danger o’ auld Nick leavin’ you his money and 
passin’ him by.” 

” That’s what Dannie — I mean, a laddie I ken — thinks ; ” 
and in spite of my youth and ignorance I thought it note- 
worthy that all my friends accounted for Big Pate’s cruelty 
in the same way. 

” Damned a doot o’t,” said the Wanderer ; ” and rather 
than lose the siller he’ll murder ye ; he’s quite fit for ’t.” 

I knew the Wanderer was not mistaken here and I remained 
silent, lost in gloomy forebodings. 

” Ay,” my companion remarked in a little, ” he’s a black- 
hearted villain that’ll stick at naething. Ye’ll clear out o’ 
this at the first chance, if ye tak’ my advice.” 

My heart was too heavy to let me keep up the talk. After 
another silence I bethought me of a less painful subject. 

” Ye’re forgettin’ to speak proper, Mary.” 

She gave a laugh. ” It’s easily forgotten when you’ve 
been out of the way a while.” 

” I would like to get into the way,” I said, though a little 
shamefacedly. “ Look here, Mary, if you practise it along 
with me, I’ll bring ye something frae the admiral’s pairty.” 

” Party,” she corrected with a laugh. 

” That’s richt, Mary ; right, I mean,” and my voice was 
earnest. ” You’ll correct me and I’ll correct you. If you do. 
I’ll fetch ye something from the admiral’s party ; ” and I took 
pains to render the words properly this time. 

” I wad rather ye’d let me in aside ye,” the Wanderer said 
with a change of tone. “I’m devilish cauld ; ” and I heard her 
moving the sacks among which she lay. 

“No,” I called out hastily ; ” stay where you are.” 

” It’ll be warmer for us baith,” she expostulated. 

“ I dinna care,” I returned, forgetting my fine diction in 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 63 

my earnestness ; ‘'ye ken what I was sent up here for, and I 
don’t want anither breed.” 

The Wanderer was too hardened to resent the affront and 
glad, I suppose, to have company on any terms, she even 
complied with my whim when I asked her once more to 
use her best English. We talked till I was drowsy, the 
one correcting the other, and the last I remember was 
this : 

” Mary, suppose you were walking in the street — in Ran- 
dolph Street, maybe — and the rain came on and you were 
running to get out of the rain, and Miss Sess — I mean, any- 
body that was with you said it didn’t look well to be running, 
would you say, ‘ Oh ! Bother appearances ’ ? ” 

” I would rather say, ‘ Damn appearances.’ Well maybe 
your way would be best, Jamie.” 

” And suppose you were going down the Lang Stracht with 
the ad — with somebody, and you asked them what the view 
minded you of, and they gave it up and asked you what it 
minded you of, would you say ‘ Often told ’ ? ” 

” What ? Tuts ! You’re dreaming. Away and sleep.’* 
My new style of speech was so dear to me that, without 
thinking, I was apt to practise it with others than theWanderer. 
Early on the Sunday afternoon Dannie Martin called for me 
and for once showed traces of excitement. The estate-carter, 
who lived with him in the bothy, had happened to mention 
that he had seen a goldfinch the day before. Where ? Just 
inside the Satter Wood, at the top corner next the road. Was 
Ronald sure it was a gooldie ? Ronald had replied that he 
wasn’t born blind, and had gone on to say he had seen the 
bird two days earlier, not far from the same spot but outside 
the wood. Dannie hied to the Mailing, and as the neighbour- 
hood of Lowis House was always a welcome haunt I accom- 
panied him gladly. The Satter Wood began at the house 
and stretched towards the hill-country — greenwood below, 
rising to spruce and larch. We started our search at the 
Maiden’s Rest, a small beautiful lake named from a girl of 
the Seton family who had drowned herself in it long, long ago. 
It was fed by a clear burn that ran through the wood all the 
way. Up this we proceeded first, for the stream was fringed 
at places with alder trees, and we thought the bird might be 
haunting these for the seed. On reaching the firs we turned 
and, each taking a breadth of the wood, moved downward. 


64 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


As yet the search had been vain and Dannie was not in the 
best humour. 

“ I wadna ta’en Ronald’s word for ony ither bird,” he re- 
marked, ” for he couldna tell a craw frae a daw ; but a man 
wi’ a glass e’e should ken a gooldie. And then Ronald said 
that the first time he cam’ on ’t it was pickin’ the black-heids 
at the roadside. And ye ken they dae that.” 

Again we chose a breadth apiece and climbed to the same 
limit as before, and in this way we searched all that part of 
the greenwood that lay between the house and the road. It 
was getting dusk, and we emerged from the wood in hope that 
the roadside might give us better luck. We walked side by 
side, and as the same keen scrutiny was no longer needed we 
could talk of other things. The most interesting was the 
admiral’s tea, which had been postponed till later in January. 
Both the Church and the Sunday-school at Lucas had been 
holding soirees at the New Year, and it was thought advisable 
to leave an interval between them and the Lowis treat. We 
were both pleased at the delay. It meant that Miss Maymie 
would be at home till the end of the month. This was my 
consolation. Dannie’s was different. 

” It’ll gie Teen mair time to get her new frock ready. Ye 
like a lassie to be wise-like when ye tak’ her to a han’lin’. 
Hoy-oy-oy ! ” 

” I thought you didn’t care for her,” I said. 

Dannie’s disappointment with the goldfinch may have left 
him irascible. 

” I thought you didn’t care for her,” he mimicked in peeping 
tones ; ” I thought you didn’t care for her. What like a 
way’s that to speak. And twa three minutes since ye said, 

‘ I was cleaning out the straw-barn.’ Cleaning out the straw- 
barn ! What the ’s wrang wi’ ye ? ” 

” Nothing.” 

” Nothing ! There ye’re at it again. Can ye no say ' Nae- 
thing ? ’ D’ye feel like deein’ or what ? Ye’re gettin’ to be 
a dam babby. Ye dinna smoke and I ha vena heard ye sweer 
the day.” 

I made no defence and Dannie may have felt his onslaught 
to be too savage. It was in the indifferent tone common with 
him that he resumed : 

“Ye’ll never get on at service except ye’re a bonnie sweerer 
and can play the concertina. I can sweer wi’ ony man o’ my 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


65 


wecht. ‘ Hoy, ye young ! ’ " he yelled to some youngsters 

who were playing on the roadside bank, “ ' are ye for in to 

that park o’ young grass ? What the d’ye mean ? If I 

catch ye ower that dyke, by I’ll blaw oot yer brains.* 

That’s the way to talk,” he said, turning to me, and in a little 
he looked back at the frightened children and wound up with 
his usual yell. 

I was in better heart about this time than I had been ever 
since Big Pate came to the Mailing. The tasks that fell to 
me — to delve the corners of the ploughed fields, build up dykes, 
slash down briers with the hedge-bill — were comparatively 
light and had this to recommend them besides — they kept 
me away from my tyrant. One person about the farm 
thought I had too little work. Florrie and I were not the 
friends we had been. In my first half-year at the Mailing 
she had been rather kind to me, was always ready for a joke 
and, both when we were alone and still more in Bob’s presence, 
was fond of caressing me, wanting perhaps to make her lover’s 
mouth water. Florrie had this peculiarity, if it be one : she 
must captivate every male she knew, old or young ; no other 
woman must have a share. She used to tease me about my 
supposed fancy for Teen Gillies and was piqued at it, though 
we were but children to her. For mischief I would provoke 
her jealousy, pretending that Teen and I were more gracious 
than we really were. Once she was like to tear my eyes out 
because I had got a letter which she guessed, and rightly, to 
have come from that little maid. In appearance Florrie was 
rather the genteel domestic than the farm-servant ; her cheeks 
had only a faint tinge, her arms, which she usually kept covered, 
were white, and she was particularly trim in dress and smart 
in her movements. She had been intimate with Big Pate, I 
surmise, when he had lived at the Mailing before ; certainly 
they were intimate very soon after his return, and that in 
spite of two considerations that should have kept them apart. 
Big Pate was known to be married, though his wife and he 
had been parted for years ; and Florrie was understood to be 
Bob’s sweetheart. The pair took pleasure, I could see, in 
hoodwinking the young fellow. Meaning looks would pass 
between them the while Florrie was allowing Bob to take some 
lover’s privilege. I had once admired Florrie a little and had 
submitted, if not responded, to her caresses. Of late all this 
was changed. Her intimacy with my fiendish tyrant would 

F 


66 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


alone have alienated me, and at the best it would have been 
hard for Florrie to keep her place in my regard. I now loved 
another — a very different being. Florrie might attribute 
my coldness to a growing love for little Teen ; certainly, she 
came to dislike me ; she made no protest against Pate’s 
cruelty, soon she laughed at it and so gave Pate encourage- 
ment. If I got into trouble, as in the affair with the vermin, 
she treated me with a hardness she would never have shown 
when we were friends. Our quarrel now rose very simply. I 
was crossing the court one afternoon when Florrie came out 
of the milk-house, where she had been making up butter. 

** Whaur are ye gaun ? ” she asked. 

There was no reason why I should not have let her know. 
I was going to the byre for a spade, old Nicol having told me 
at dinner-time to clear out a ditch in the Saugh Park. Instead 
of satisfying Florrie I answered carelessly, 

“ What’s your business ? ” 

“ Awa’ and kindle the boiler-fire,” she ordered, without 
heeding my impudence. The fire in the scullery had been 
allowed to go out, as often happened. 

” Kindle ’t yourself ; I’m not your servant,” I answered 
loftily. 

” Ye’ve a damned sicht ower little to dae. Kindle the fire 
when ye’re budden.” 

” You’ve no right to bid me,” I replied in my best English. 

My calmness angered her, and she said viciously, 

” It’s a stick ye need to yer back, ye lousy little blackguard.” 

The allusion to my recent disgrace made me forget my 
dignity, and with a heat equal to her own I broke out, 

” And you’re a dirty low tinkler. I wadna lift ye aff the 
road.” 

My anger calmed and even amused her. She gave a laugh. 

” I thocht ye liked me, Jamie.” 

” Maybe ; but I dinna like ye noo, I could spit on ye ; the 
very sicht o’ ye scunners me.” 

” I’ll gie ye mair to scunner ye,” and she advanced on me, 
an evil look in her eyes. 

But I was not afraid of this antagonist. I doubled my fists 
and faced her up. She stopped and eyed me for a little. 
Then she said, 

” It’s Pate ye’re needin’ at ye. I’ll tell him and he’ll sune 
tak’ the impudence oot o’ ye.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


67 


“ And 111 tell Bob that you’re cairryin’ on wi’ Pate.” 

Ere the threat was well out I trembled with fear. Florrie’s 
emotion was as great. She turned white and glared at me 
without speaking. 

” By God ! I’ll ” she broke out when she could 

speak ; but at once she checked herself, and, turning from 
me, moved slowly towards the milk-house. 

Had she asked me again to kindle the fire, I might not have 
complied but I should have answered civilly. She did not, 
and when we met at supper-time she had got over her anger. 
Indeed, my independence must have raised me in her esteem, 
for she was as pleasant to me as in our friendly times. But 
her gracious manner did not melt me. Now that I saw there 
was nothing to fear I gave her no more thought. My heart 
was filled with another image. To-morrow I would see Miss 
Maymie, for to-morrow evening was the admiral’s treat. 


68 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER VIII 

T he arrangement had been that I should call at 
Dannie’s bothy, and when I arrived I found my 
friend swearing at a new white linen collar which 
refused to button at the back. The two men were 
in the bothy as well, and in the disjointed talk that went 
on the under-forester remarked, , 

“ Man, I fairly thocht I saw that gooldie the day.” 

“ Whaur ? ” we asked with one breath. 

” No that damned faur frae the hoose, on that gean-tree 
aboon Nisbet’s cottage. It was just fleein’ aff when I got my 
e’en on ’t, and I saw the wing-bars gey distinct though it was 
gettin’ kin’ o’ grey. I follows it up and saw ’t at the foot o’ 
a rhododendron, and what was the damned thing efter a’ 
but a hen-shilfie.” 

“ I believe it’s been a hen-shilfie ye saw a’ the time, Ronald,” 
said Dannie. 

” Ye little deevil, d’ye think I dinna ” and Ronald 

made at my friend to reward him with a cuff ; but Dannie 
sprang back, put up his fists and began working round the 
carter, a fellow six feet high. Both men roared with laughter, 
which increased when Dannie’s collar slipped from his neck 
to the floor. The carter aimed a kick at it, and Dannie, at 
the risk of stopping the kick with his stomach, threw himself 
on the floor and kept his finery protected till danger was over. 
He had to get my help, however, before the refractory collar 
was made secure about his neck. 

The riding-school at Lowis House had been fitted up for 
the treat. Tables, made of boards laid on trestles, ran in a 
row alongside either wall with a passage between. Only a 
few guests had ventured in when we arrived, and these had 
chosen places near the door. Dannie and I joined the group 
that stood at the entrance looking in. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 69 

" We’ll keep at the back, aboot the richt-haun corner there,” 
said my friend after some talk with his neighbours. 

This did not please me. I saw that the tables near us were 
presided over by the Lowis maids ; Miss Maymie and her sister 
and friends were away at the far end. My beloved was in a 
white dress of some soft stuff ; only at the puffy shoulder 
there wasTa touch of colour, a narrow band of greenish blue, 
the shade reminding me of a heron’s egg. A narrow sash of 
the same hue bound her waist. Diamonds sparkled in her 
dress where it edged her bare bosom. When my eyes lighted 
on her — and that was at the first glance into the room — she 
was talking with a gentleman ; rather, he was talking to her. 
Like the other gentlemen from the house, he was in evening 
dress. He was tall and spare, and his attitude and movements 
were easy. I could tell, little as I had seen, that he was neither 
soldier nor sailor. His hair was black and very smooth, his 
face of a darkish paleness, his features fine. As I saw him 
talking with, I felt sure, an ease like that of his attitude, a 
pang caught me at the heart, and yet, in spite of jealousy, I 
was drawn to the face. What drew me I could not tell at the 
time ; it was years ere I knew. 

That’s a lord’s son frae England,” said Dannie, as if he 
had heard my unspoken question. 

Ye’re a liar, then,” said a giant who was leaning against 
the door-cheek, half-drunk already and with a bottle bulging 
out his breast-pocket ; "for he’s a duke’s son and a lord 
himsel’. Isn’t that sae, Wattie ? ” he demanded of the farm- 
grieve who was acting as a marshal and had come to the 
door to encourage us in. 

” That’s so, Simon. He’s the Duke o’ Daventry’s son, the 
Marquis o’ Soar, and he’ll be duke himsel’ if he lives long 
enough. But come awa’ in, Simon ; came awa’, callans ; 
fill up the tables.” 

Instead of complying, Dannie moved further from the door 
and edged me with him. 

” Teen canna be long noo,” he said, ” and there’s room 
eneuch.” 

I did not object. The guests were still keeping to the 
back, and I hoped that we should be forced forward when 
we did go in. But when the front began to fill, I grew 
alarmed and urged my chum to move. Teen might not be 
coming. 


70 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Nae fear but she’ll come, and there’s seats at the back 
yet,” said Dannie, somewhat uneasily, however. 

” But we’d be better at the front. We could see and hear 
everything.” 

” Folk dinna gang to a pairty to see and hear ; they gang 
to enjoy themsel’s.” 

Love taught me craft. 

” Look here, Dannie ; we’d get better served at the front ; 
the ladies would be better to us than the maids.” 

My companion made no direct reply, though I could see 
the argument was not lost. 

” What time is ’t, Simon ? ” he asked, for the giant had 
no more entered than ourselves. 

” It wants one minute o’ hauf -eight.” 

” Ye’re fast.” 

” Ye’re a liar. D’ye no ken that the sun rises by this watch 
o’ mine. There’s just twa o’ the kind ever been made. I’ve 
got ane ” 

” And the Prince o’ Wales has the ither. We’ve heard that 
afore. But here she comes. What keepet ye, woman ? ” 
and without staying for an answer he drew her behind him, 
looking to me to follow. 

But a crowd was pressing in, and as my two companions 
passed into a bench I let myself be swept forward by the stream. 
My heart was thumping, but courage sustained me till I 
reached the table where Miss Maymie had been standing, and 
by a lucky chance I got the end seat next the passage. 

In a few minutes the admiral rapped on a table. Admiral 
Seton was a man of middle size, with good features, a sun- 
bronzed skin, and hair that was still golden where it was not 
grey. It was from him Miss Maymie drew her beauty. 
The mother was exceedingly plain — a tall, stout lady with 
a face which some kind of trouble had left a purplish red. 
Miss Seton, though a kindly-looking girl, was also plain. 

“It’s ten minutes past the time,” the admiral called out, 
and I could tell a resemblance between his voice and Miss 
Maymie’s ; “if you’ll all be quiet for a minute, Mr. Marr will 
say grace.” 

The minister asked a blessing and tea began. Anxiously 
did I watch to see whether Miss Maymie or the friend who 
helped her would attend to my side of the table. It was her 
friend. But the disappointment was atoned for a little later 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


71 

Miss Maymie called her sister, who had a table on the other 
side and was not busy at the moment. 

“ I was just thinking, Lennie, that we should have had 
ano^ther copy of that song Mrs. Meiklejohn was talking about. 
Her niece may want her own copy to sing from.” 

” I brought a book with the song in it,” her sister said. 

” Oh, Lennie ! you think of everything.” 

They had been standing beside me as they talked and I 
edged closer till I felt my jacket touch her dress. Indeed, 
when she was turning away, her bare arm pressed against me. 
Oh, the thrill of that touch ! 

When tea was over, the admiral again called for silence. 
He explained that the place would have to be cleared for a 
few minutes and be rearranged for the second part of the pro- 
ceedings. We must not, however, go far away or wait long ; 
the night was getting on. He supposed some of the men 
would want to smoke ; the non-smokers and the ladies might 
like to look through the picture-gallery. 

Dannie and his companion were waiting for me at the door. 

” Could ye no get in for the crood ? ” my friend asked, 
and I did not set him right. So happy was I that I talked 
more than the two. They should have come to the front like 
me : the table I was at had more than it could hold : a big 
pie had never been broken. 

” Damned little pie we got. Teen,” said Dannie sulkily ; 
” they’ll no feed fat that comes efter May Gentles and her 
smatter o’ bairns.” 

Teen had been rather distant to me till she understood that 
I had left her company through no fault of mine. Now she 
asked, 

” Are ye gaun to the front when we gang in again, Jamie ? ” 

” Of course ; ye see a’ that’s gaun on.” 

” I think we’ll gang forrit tae.” 

Neither of us responded. I felt I should enjoy the evening 
better without company. What Dannie thought I know not ; 
what he said was, 

” I think I’ll hae a draw.” 

” Ye’ve nae business to be smokin’— a cratur like you,” 
Teen remonstrated. 

” Hoy-oy-oy ! Jamie there’ll please ye ; he’s gien ’t up.” 

” Ha’e ye, Jamie ? ” she inquired with interest. ” That's 
richt ; it’s a dirty trick— spit, spittin’ a’ ower the place. 


72 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Yell no be gaun to see the pictures, then ? ” she asked Dannie 
the next moment ; and when my chum, after looking more 
than once at her and at his clay, answered, though with less 
than his usual decidedness, that “ he thocht no ; he thocht 
he wad hae a smoke,” she turned to me, “ Wad you no like 
to see the pictures, Jamie ? ” 

“ I dinna care,” was my answer, and it told my feehng 
exactly. I knew and cared nothing about pictures ; I was 
indifferent whether I saw the gallery or not. 

A good many people, mostly the ploughmen’s wives, were 
in already. With the outside of the gallery I was familar 
enough. It was new, compared with the rest of the house, 
and had been built since the last laird grew rich owing to 
the working of mineral on a property he owned in Clydesdale. 
The contrast between its light-coloured stone and the weathered 
walls of the house made it a striking addition, and without 
this it would have been remarkable enough. It formed a 
wing of the mansion, though it was separated from it by a 
few yards’ space which was covered in with glass, and it stood 
far back, so far, indeed, that but for the breadth of this cor- 
ridor, ten feet at most, the back of the house was flush with 
its front. The building was square, its walls blank, the light 
coming from the roof. When Teen and I found ourselves 
inside, the scene was so novel that for all my preoccupation I 
was interested. Not in the pictures, however, though these, 
running the whole length of the walls and covering them to a 
good height, made a striking show of colour in the glare of 
the electric light. The middle of the floor was filled with 
exotic evergreens, among which foreign birds of brilliant 
plumage perched and flitted. Common ones,, like the love- 
birds, I knew ; most were strange, and I could have spent 
hours examining them. But our attention was called to the 
pictures. A young gentleman, tutor to the admiral’s only 
boy, came into the room with Master Reginald and began 
describing the more important works. We had to join the 
group. The descriptions, full of names I never heard before, 
did not interest me much. “ This is a scene in such-and-such 
a country. It’s by so-and-so. The landscape is mostly dark, 
you see : it’s a night scene, of course ; but notice those little 
glints of moonlight here and there.* You would hardly remark 
them at first ; but once your attention is drawn to them you 
feel that the picture would be entirely different without them 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


73 


That was a favourite trick of this artist.” And so he went on, 
giving the main particulars about the most important works ; 
one was interesting for its subject, another for the painter’s 
repute, another for its age, another for its price. 

“ This,” he said, stopping before one of moderate size, 
rather broad than high, “ represents a scene in a monastery. 
This monk, you see, has just been punished for some offence. 
French painters are fond of such scenes.” 

I had glanced carelessly at the picture, but in a moment 
every leading feature printed itself on my soul. There was 
a large bare room or hall into which a man had just been 
carried through a door that was still open. In front were 
men walking in twos ; they were shaven, partly bald, dressed 
in hooded frocks. The person who had been punished was 
borne by three of his fellows, one holding up either shoulder, 
the third supporting his knees. The whole front of the 
body, which was entirely naked, could be seen. It was limp, 
as if without bones. The eyes were shut and one could tell 
that the man was senseless, but on the pallid face dwelt the 
agony under which sense had fled. Last in the procession 
came the man who had administered the chastisement — a 
swarthy giant, clad not in a frock but in breeches and shirt. 
He carried a knotted scourge ; the scourge was red. On the 
frame of the picture was the title in French, so like the English 
that anybody could have made it out ; alongside, however, 
was the English rendering : “A Case of Discipline.” 

As I say, I took in the features and felt the motive of the 
picture at a glance. Then a shuddering as from approaching 
nausea came over me and I turned away and staggered. 
Wee Teenie noticed my state at once and caught me, or I 
should perhaps have fallen. 

” What’s wrang, Jamie ? Ye’re no week Sit down there,” 
and she promptly led me to a black-leather bench that stood 
near. Then sitting by me she plied me with suggestions as 
to what might be done : Should she get some water ? Would 
I go into the fresh air ? But I put up my hand to stop her 
and I sat perfectly still, using my whole force to steady and 
recover myself. Nobody but Teen had remarked me and I 
was left at peace. By the time Wattie Chalmers came in to 
call us I was able to follow with the others. 

" Dinna say onything aboot it. Teen,” I cautioned her as 
we joined our friend outside. 


74 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


My sudden seizure had kept us among the last, and when 
we entered the haJl, from which the tables had been cleared, 
we found most of the benches filled. Teen, and maybe 
Dannie, too would have been ready to go well forward, and 
we were forced farther than even I contemplated. Nowhere 
was there room for three till we came to the second bench 
from the front on the right-hand side, and here we settled. 
Teen between her two squires. The house party were already 
seated in chairs beside the piano, from which one bench alone 
separated us, and we had not well got into our places when 
the admiral rose to give the opening speech. He made it 
short ; indeed, he did not seem at his ease when speaking : 
he was hesitating and jerky. Still, I liked to hear him for the 
sake of the voice. After saying how pleased he was that so 
many of us had come at his invitation, he explained why his 
wife and himself had been led to give the party. For some 
years a tenants’ dance had been held, but this was the first 
ploughmen’s treat. His idea was this. On an estate there 
were three different classes — the landlord, the tenantry, and 
the labourers, and all three were important. Let no one 
imagine, because he was a ploughman, that his duties were of 
no consequence. He had his place and his work just like the 
landlord and the farmer. Let each one, landlord, tenant, 
and ploughman, be content with his situation and endeavour 
to discharge its duties worthily. In this way all would con- 
tribute to the highest welfare of the estate, ay, of the nation. 

After the admiral’s speech visitors from the house sang or 
played, and during the music the company got rather noisy. 
Some of the ploughmen had brought bottles which must have 
been circulating freely in the short interval, for the hall was 
pervaded by a smell of whisky, and there was so much talking 
and laughing at times that the admiral had to call for order. 
He soon hit on the plan of giving a few minutes’ rest between 
the songs to let the audience talk ; when silence was called, 
they were more ready to obey. Dannie and Teen did their 
share of talking, the latter giving me as much of her attention 
as she did my friend. I had part of the sweets Dannie had 
brought her, and every now and then she would ask in a 
whisper, “ Are ye a’ richt noo, Jamie ? ” “ Ha’e ye quite 
got ower yer dwaum ? ” "Ye dinna find the place over hot 
for ye ? ’’ 

Little Teen, I fear, did not find me very responsive. My 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 75 

eyes were on Miss Maymie, following her every movement ; 
when she spoke to a friend I strained to catch her words. 
Above all, I longed for the moment when she would sing. 
And at last the moment seemed to have come. Her sister 
had played most of the accompaniments, and Miss Maymie, 
a book in her hand, now came over. Ah, the disappointment ! 
She took her sister’s place at the piano and the singer was one 
of the visitors, an overgrown scraggy schoolgirl. As Miss 
Maymie played a few bars for prelude the notes sounded 
familiar, though I could not name the air, and I waited with 
interest till the girl should sing. That voice — what a reve- 
lation ! So pure, so sweet, so mastering ! Above all, so free 
and effortless, working its effect with perfect ease. It re- 
minded me of the blackbird’s notes and, little as I knew, I 
recognised in the awkward girl the born singer. My eyes 
left Miss Maymie and were fixed on the schoolgirl as she sang : 

“ O Mary, at thy window be, 

It is the wish’d, the trysted hour. 

Those smiles and glances let me see 
That mak’ the miser’s treasure poor. 

How blithely wad I bide the stoure, 

A weary slave frae sun to sun ” 

But I could not hold out. Emotions I need not try to 
name, for they were indistinguishable to myself — emotions 
countless, diverse, strangely blended, were working on me ; 
I felt the blood shrink from my cheek, the water flood my 
eyes ; my face twitched, quick gasps caught my throat, and, 
my self-control nearly gone, I bent my head and shook with 
sobs. Teen’s arm was round me in a moment. 

“ Oh, Jamie ! ” she whispered anxiously, “ are ye no weel 
again ? Rise and we’ll gang oot ; I’ll gang oot wi’ ye.” 

But I held her off and managed to say something about 
being ” a’ richt the noo,” and I raised my head a moment 
to confirm the words. 

For all my agony I was aware of what was passing. As I 
had been able to keep down any outcry, I disturbed no one 
at first but my two friends. Little Teen, her caution forgotten 
in her anxiety, was whispering, “ There’s something awfu’ 
wrang wi’ him ; he took no weel in the gallery,” to which 
Dannie answered, “ It’s Big Pate ; he’s killin’ him, the .” 

Some of the admiral’s friends had now observed that some- 
thing was wrong and were looking over with questioning eyes. 


76 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


The girl who was singing faltered, and seemed in doubt whether 
to stop, till Miss Maymie, who had remarked nothing, glanced 
at her sharply. Soon my sobs grew less torturing and I 
wept tears that gave me relief. As my hand was searching 
for my pocket, Teen took it softly and pressed into it her new 
white handkerchief. 

“ Dry them wi’ that, Jamie ; never heed wattin’ 't.” 

Oh, simple kindness ! little heeded by the boy : in man- 
hood’s memory so dear ! 

The song was ended and there was such uproar that I 
could sit up unnoticed and compose my face. The audience 
clapped and stamped and yelled " ’core, ’core ! ” and after 
some consultation among the admiral’s people the girl came 
forward again and repeated the last verse of the song. More 
cheering followed, and just then I happened to look at the 
gentleman with the smooth black hair. Very likely his eyes 
had drawn mine, for they were fixed upon me, and in them 
was something that startled me and made me forget my own 
trouble. It was years again ere I knew what the strange 
something was. 

But the admiral rapped on the piano and called for silence. 

“ We have with us to-night a friend from whom we must 
have a few words. He is known to us all and is respected by 
all. I mean our worthy parish minister, Mr. Marr. Mr. 
Marr will give us a few words.” 

The minister was a stout, red-faced man about sixty. He 
spoke fluently, but his voice, though loud and deep, was husky 
and he had often to clear his throat. 

He had not meant, he said, to trouble us with any remarks. 
Admiral Seton, in his excellent opening address, had said all 
that was needed, and he had no doubt the company would 
rather hear more of the delightful music discoursed by the 
ladies than listen to his voice, which all of us had heard so 
often. However, as he had been called forward, he must 
obey the captain of the ship. The thoughts he would like 
to express were some that had been suggested by the admiral’s 
own speech. Admiral Seton had pointed out very strikingly 
that there were and ^ways must be different classes in the 
world, and it was on the relation of those classes that he would 
like to say a word. In these days a spirit of discontent was 
rife amongst the people. He was glad to be able to say there 
was little, if anything, of this in our parish ; but it was rife 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


77 


enough elsewhere, and was encouraged, if not originated, by 
unscrupulous persons who would have us believe that the upper 
classes did nothing in return for the privileges they enjoyed. 
Now, there was a temptation for unthinking people to accept 
this doctrine. A ploughman sees the landlord of an estate 
riding about in his carriage, and he thinks the laird has a fine 
time of it — nothing to do but enjoy himself. He forgets 
the laird has the responsibility of managing his great estate. 
The welfare of all on those domains depends on him. That 
was an anxiety, a responsibility which the ploughman could 
not understand, which only those could understand who were 
in the position themselves. He did not ask the admiral’s 
confidence, but he would take the liberty of saying this ; if 
Admiral Seton cared to tell us, he would be able to say that 
at times the responsibility and anxiety of his high position 
were such that he would gladly have changed places with the 
poorest ploughman on his lands. 

At this point the admiral nodded and said, “ Hear, hear ! ” 
But there was an interruption of another kind. From near 
the back of the hall came a loud growl, 

“ Dry up, auld Break-the-bottle.” 

Instantly a roar of laughter rose that might have lifted the 
roof. 

Like everybody in the district, I knew the minister’s nick- 
name and why he got it. The former minister of Lucas had 
been deposed for drunkenness, and the people were resolved 
to have a sober man as his successor. They gave a call to 
Mr. Marr, who led them to understand he was a teetotaller. 
Not long after his settlement he was out one day curling, and 
as he stooped to measure a shot a bottle fell from his breast- 
pocket and broke on the ice. It was whisky. This had 
happened more than twenty years ago, but as Mr. Marr never 
became popular in the parish it was kept up on him. ^ Any 
new-comer was told the story the first time the minister’s 
name was mentioned. After the exposure he may have felt 
it was useless to study appearances. At any rate, he took a 
glass openly though not to excess. 

The interruption caused the wildest commotion. The 
ploughmen and their wives roared with unrestrained laughter ; 
even the admiral’s party could not hide their merriment. 
Miss Maymie’s eyes sparkled like the diamonds on her breast, 
and her lady-friends smiled though they would not understand 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


78 

the joke. Two faces, besides the minister’s, showed no 
sign of mirth. Mrs. Seton looked pained, her husband stern, 
and as the uproar continued he marched down the hall to 
restore quietness. 

When the growl first broke the minister’s speech, Dannie 
and I had exchanged looks : we knew the voice. Big Pate 
had been drinking freely at the interval, and he was now 
clearing off a score with the minister. This was the story, as 
I heard it later. Once, when Pate stayed at the Mailing before, 
the minister had encountered him on a Sunday coming from 
Craigkenneth pretty drunk, and had rebuked him both for 
drinking and for not attending church. Pate had given the 
minister his nickname, and Mr. Marr, firing up, threatened to 
tell old Nicol. He did complain and Nicol spoke to his nephew, 
though in a way that showed he enjoyed the fun. Pate would 
know the value of the rebuke ; none the less, he kept a grudge 
at the minister. 

“ I hope they put him oot,” Teen said fiercely, as the admiral 
walked down the passage. All eyes were set in Big Pate’s 
direction, and knowing his recklessness in drink I thought 
it likely that Teen would have her wish. However, after a 
few more growls Pate was silent, the admiral returned to his 
chair, and by degrees the audience grew composed. The 
minister had continued speaking all through the uproar, but 
when silence was restored he only kept us a minute or two, 
then sat down. 

Ere the gathering broke up, the admiral intimated that his 
daughters would be waiting for us at the door with a small 
present. Any one who smoked — and he supposed all the 
men did smoke — would get a piece of tobacco ; the others 
would get something as good. Being so far forward we were 
among the last to go. Miss Maymie and her sister were 
standing opposite each other at the door. Beside them were 
small packets which maids handed them, and these they gave 
the outgoing guests. Which of the gifts would Miss Maymie 
be dispensing ? If the tobacco, I would join the smokers. 
But — whether from chance or choice — her sister was dis- 
tributing the paper-covered lengths of twist, while Miss 
Maymie gave out little tin boxes which proved to contain 
chocolate. One of these became mine and I felt the night had 
made me rich. For the first time I had touched my queen, 
for the first time I had received a gift from her hands, for the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


79 


first time I had spoken to her. Like little Teen, who had 
passed out before me, but in better English than hers, I had 
said, “ Thank you, ma’am.” 

As I walked home that night living the delicious hours once 
more, I hoped I might find the Wanderer in the barn-loft. 
She had only visited me once since the three-nights’ stay at 
the New Year, and that was after less than a week’s interval. 
She was jaded and ill, and we had had very little talk. Since 
then I had found no chance of practising the lessons she gave 
me ; Dannie’s rebuke was too vicious to have me risk a repe- 
tition, and I had no other friend. When alone, however, I 
exercised myself, sometimes even uttering my thoughts aloud 
to learn how the language sounded, and I hoped the Wanderer, 
when she came, would find an improvement in her pupil. 
Every night I saw that the ladder was handy, the bole un- 
fastened. The truth is, I see now, that it was for more than 
her lessons I prized her : she was company to the lonely boy. 
I had spoken freely to her almost from the first, had told her 
of my tyrant, how he thrashed me, how he made me rob the 
hens’ nests, how he and Florrie were deceiving Bob. And this 
night I could have spoken to her of the one who was nearest 
my heart, and could have done so quite naturally and without 
letting the bird from my bosom. For I had promised to bring 
the Wanderer something from the admiral’s party in return 
for her lessons in “ speaking proper,” and by good chance it 
was Miss Maymie that had handed me the gift. So I might 
talk of the loved one and raise no suspicion. But the barn- 
loft was empty and I had to be my own confidant. I kept 
my word, however : ere l)dng down I hid the chocolate 
above the wall of the loft and covered it with an old jar to 
keep it safe. 


8o 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER IX 

I N spite of our quarrel and of my open indifference 
Florrie was as friendly as ever, and for some days after 
the admiral’s treat Big Pate gave me less ill-treatment 
than I had been used to. That something was making 
him keep his hands off me became apparent on the day of the 
Lucas ploughing-match. 

I mentioned further back that the men had got a holiday 
for the match at Maud, the arrangement being that they 
should have to stick at their work when the local contest came 
round. They never supposed that old Nicol would hold them 
to the bargain, especially as the Maud holiday had been 
spoiled by the weather. One night, then, as they were sorting 
the horses, they asked the day for the Lucas match, expecting 
it to be granted at the moment. But Nicol had a teasing 
way ; he liked to make people feel his power. A bargain 
was a bargain, he reminded the men. There was more need 
of them at home : two parks of lea and all the red land to 
plough yet. Besides, it wouldn’t matter though they missed 
the match ; they weren’t going to compete. 

A day or two before the match he asked Pate what plough- 
men he was to be guiding. Pate answered gruffly that, as 
his uncle knew well enough, he was not going to the match. 
What for ? Because he hadn’t got leave. And when old 
Nicol assured him, 

“ I never meant to stop ye, and fine ye ken that,” 

Pate only answered, 

“ Then ye shouldna ha’ looked sae damned like it.” 

It was true that neither of the ploughmen would be com- 
peting. Big Pate was ploughed out : he had been first on 
two occasions ; Bob, who had held the year before without 
being placed, had no wish to enter again. But it was for 
another reason they refused the holiday. Admiral Seton 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


81 

was taking a great interest in his Home Farm, and he had 
coveted Nicol’s best mare. The farmer should not have 
entertained the offer at such a time — the middle of the plough- 
ing season — but a fancy price tempted him, and he did not 
breathe a hint till the bargain was struck. Pate was furious ; 
not only did he lose the mare he had been so proud of, but the 
new purchase looked a very inferior beast. So he declined 
the holiday ; it was a chance of shaming his uncle in the coun- 
tryside. Bob followed his mate, and on the day of the Lucas 
match the Mailing ploughmen were both at work on their own 
farm, though in different fields. 

It was the first time the new mare had been out. She 
seemed a quiet beast and it was not with her Pate anticipated 
trouble, rather with the gelding. Durham, a powerful though 
not a big chestnut, had a queer temper and might not like his 
new neighbour. Besides, he would find an alteration in his 
work. Before, he had been the furrow-horse ; now, as the 
stronger beast, he would be the lander ; his place would 
therefore be strange and his draught heavier. Ere Pate and 
I reached the field, as soon indeed as we left the pond, the 
trouble started. Rose, the new mare, went steadily enough, 
but Durham gave her no peace. Now he would push into 
her, now he held back, all to regain his old place on the off- 
side. The mare’s temper was well tried ere we got to the 
Rumbly Park, a small square field of ley on which no furrow 
had yet been drawn. 

I had been sent with Big Pate to guide. The change of 
horses made this necessary. First, we had to draw the feering 
for the head-rig, to draw, that is, a furrow right round the 
field, leaving, however, a few yards’ breadth next the dyke 
for headland. Then we should have to trace feerings, or 
first furrows, here and there over the field. As these feerings 
rule all the work that follows, they must be drawn as straight 
as can be. Commonly, an expert ploughman needs only a 
feering-pole for guide ; that is, he has a pole set up at the 
far end and keeps his eye on this throughout. Owing to 
the change of horses I was required to lead, and Big Pate, who 
was most particular about his work, had taken yet another 
precaution for the head-rig feering. All along the line to be 
traced he had stuck small spruce branches into the ground 
at an interval of fifteen yards or so, and my duty was to 
guide the horses so that they should pass one on either side 


82 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


of the spruce twigs which the plough would then run 
through. 

We started, I walking at the mare’s head. Big Pate, though 
he had kept down his hands of late, put no check on his tongue, 
and when yoking he had encouraged me by promising to run 
the coulter through me if the beasts went ajee by a hair’s- 
breadth. 

From the first Durham was fractious, and in spite of my 
“ Vain, Durham ! ” “ Vain yet ! ” oft repeated, he struggled 
to get towards me. If Pate had consideration at all, it was 
for horses, and as we moved up the field he spoke but seldom 
to the pair, and only when it was necessary to myself : " Haud 

aff ye ! ” “ Haud aff ye ! No sae far though,” or when in 
my excitement I was shouting too much or too loudly : 
” Less row, damn ye ; ye’ll start the beasts.” I knew I 
was safe so long as we were moving, but what would happen 
at the far end ? Pate’s hands would then be free, and if the 
work was not to his mind I should suffer. When we stopped, 
then, I eyed him fearfully as I stood at the mare’s head and 
waited till he examined the furrow. I scrutinised it with 
more concern than he. It was well drawn, the difficulties 
considered ; not a spruce twig was left standing. Yet as 
Pate turned from the survey and lurched towards me I shrank. 
However, he had only come to tighten the short reins that 
attached the horses at the hames. We took the other sides 
of the field in the same way. The horses were now working 
better and needed less attention from both Pate and me. 
Only once did I get a big fright, and it was at the last feering. 
When we were midway Pate called ” Haud to ye ! ” and — I 
suppose because the contrary direction had usually been 
given — I pushed the mare’s head further off me. Pate cursed 
in a low tone that boded evil, and I felt that at the end of 
the furrow my punishment would come. The blunder had 
certainly disfigured his work, for though he had managed to 
level the next twig it was only by making a sharp twist in the 
furrow, VTien we reached the end of the line, Pate gave but 
one glance at the damage, then advanced on me. Why had 
I not done as I was bid ? and with the words he raised his 
big hand. I looked for nothing but to be felled outright. 
What was my surprise, then, to see the hand stayed for a 
while in the air, then drop slowly to his side ! The change 
that passed over his swarthy face terrified me almost as much 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


83 


as the threatened blow ; it showed what an effort was needed 
to master his hands. After glaring at me for a while in silence 
he took out his pipe and smoked. 

In a little we started to draw the feerings in the body of the 
field. Pate had calculated, I suppose, that the pair would 
be less troublesome by then and he had not taken such elabo- 
rate precautions. He had merely dug out spadefuls of turf 
at wide intervals, and through the holes thus made the plough 
had to pass. The horses were now drawing so well that I 
might have been dispensed with, and I got no ill-usage from 
Pate beyond an occasional curse. When I left the field with 
a whole skin I was astonished, and even a little afraid, at my 
luck. 

But ere I reached the steading my heart was as heavy as 
though my body had been covered with weals. At the cross- 
roads I encountered Ronald coming down the Lang Stracht 
with a cart-load of boxes. I stopped and asked, with an 
attempt at wit, whether he was flitting. He was going to 
Craigkenneth station, he told me, with the luggage ; the Big 
House folk were leaving. 

“ They’re for the sooth o' England, I hear, Ronald ? " 

“ Ay.” 

” They’ll likely be awa’ a guid while ? ” I asked with 
feigned indifference. 

” I question if they’re back noo tae August.” 

It was only what I looked for, yet it added to my desolation. 
One hope remained : I might catch a glimpse of Miss Maymie 
ere her departure. 

” The carriage ’ll likely be doon sure, Ronald ? ” 

” What carriage ? ” 

” The carriage wi’ — wi’ the Big Hoose folk.” 

” The Big Hoose folk left last nicht.” 

As I turned in to the Mailing, I could hardly trail myself along. 

Two or three days later, as I was washing up the dishes 
after the men's dinner. Bob remarked to his neighbour, 

” I think I’ll awa’ up the nicht and get Bauldy to gie me a 
cowe. My hair’s faur ower long. Ye’ll mebbe sort the horse 
yersel’ the nicht.” 

Pate looked at him for some seconds without speaking. 
Then he said, 

” Wait, man, till the morn’s nicht. Auld Nick ’ll be at the 
dinner, and he’ll no ken whether ye sorted the horse or no.” 


84 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Ye’re richt, Pate. I dinna want to be behaudin’ to the 
auld beggar.” 

” You’ll gie us a haun, Jamie ? ” Pate asked with unheard- 
of civility, and touched by his manner I assented instantly. 

The next day at the same hour the arrangement was again 
mentioned, and Pate said as civilly as before, 

” Ye’re no to be gaun alang to Dannie’s the nicht, mind ; 
ye’re to help me wi’ thae horse.” 

There was not much to do, for the horses were thoroughly 
attended to as soon as they were unyoked, and all we did at 
eight o’clock was to give them a drink, shake up their bedding, 
and put a little hay in the hack. Old Nicol was not there to 
superintend. It was the night of the ploughing-match dinner, 
to which all subscribers were invited, and, though my old uncle 
had been greatly talked about for not giving his men the holi- 
day, he went to the dinner to get the worth of his subscription. 
Pate and I were alone. 

” Rin roon', man, to the foal's lowse-box,” he said, as he 
locked the stable-door ; “I maun hae drapped my knife there 
when I was layin’ the strae. There’s the licht ; ” and he 
handed me the stable-lantern. 

The admiral had induced Nicol to part with the foal as well 
as the mare. Pate had put fresh straw on the floor that after- 
noon, for the red bull was to be shifted into the empty loose- 
box. I went round and began searching. While busy, I 
heard quick footsteps ; the next moment Florrie entered with 
a kitchen-lamp. 

” Is ” she began ; then, changing the question, ” Are 

ye a’ by yersel’, Jamie ? ” 

” Ye can surely see,” I answered shortly. 

” And what are ye aboot ? Are ye lookin’ for something ? ” 

As I wanted to find the knife, I told her and she joined in 
the search. Her lamp gave a much better light ; still, no knife 
was to be seen. While we moved about, Florrie occasionally 
came against me — by design, I was sure. 

“It’s just like lad and lass,” she said once, ” me and you 
bein’ here thegither ; ” and she looked at me with a strange 
glow in her eyes. The look, more even than the words, dis- 
gusted me, and I stooped again without speaking; but she 
went on, “ Ye’re gettin’ quite a man, Jamie ; ye’re grown 
hauf a heid since the Term. Ance ye get filled up a wee, ye’ll 
be a braw lad.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


85 


I shrank from her advance, but ere more could be said a 
heavy step sounded outside and Big Pate came in. He, too, 
had a lamp, the bothy-lamp. 

Florrie, I had often noticed, was never to be caught. She 
seemed noway confused, indeed she laughed pleasantly as she 
said, 

" We havena found yer knife yet, Pate.” 

He growled for answer. It was only after he locked the 
door and pocketed the key that he said, 

” We’ll see what else we can find. Gie’s yer lamp ; ” and 
he set her lamp and his own inside the hack. The loose- 
box, a good-sized place at the end of the steading, was dark 
even by day, having only a skylight ; now, with the lamps 
and my lantern it was clear enough. 

The locking of the door, the arranging of the lamps — these 
preparations woke my terror. I knew that the three of us 
did not find ourselves together in such a place, at such an 
hour, by chance. All my fear of Pate revived ; I trembled 
and shrank before his scowl. 

” What the ’s this ye’ve been sayin’ aboot us, ye 

chalk-faced beggar ? ” he demanded. 

I understood it all now, and my voice alone would have 
betrayed me as I faltered, 

” I wasna sayin’ onything.” 

” Oh, ye wisna. D’ye hear that, Florrie ? He’s makin’ 
ye oot a leear.” 

” Leear himsel’ ! ” she said viciously. ” Did ye no say 
ye’d tell Bob that Pate was cairryin’ on wi’ me ? ” 

“D’ye hear that ? ” demanded Pate, with awful oaths as 
I remained silent. “ Can ye deny ’t ? ” 

I felt something must be said in my defence : the punish- 
ment might be mitigated ; that was the most I could hope 
for. 

“ I never meant to tell on ye,” I nerved myself to say. 

“ Oh, ye didna ! Ye just wanted to fricht us as if we was 
bairns. Ye’ll find we’re hardly that yet. Strip 1 ” 

Though he gave the command with all the strength of his 
deep voice, I could not obey for terror. 

He seized me. 

“ Damn ’t if we’ve time to waste on you ; ” and hauling the 
lantern from my hand he began tearing off my clothes. Catch 
the legs 0 ’ his breeks,” he called to Florrie, who obeyed. In 


86 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


a minute I was perfectly naked, and Pate kicked me from him 
with his knee. He made an obscene joke as he drew out 
something that had been protruding from his hip-pocket. I 
knew it for part of an old belly-band of Prince. The leather 
was thick and almost as stiff as wood. He thrust it into the 
woman’s hand. “In to him, Floss ! ’’ he cried. 

She gave a queer laugh as she handled the strap. 

“ In to him ! ’’ Pate cried again. “ D’ye think we’ve a’ 
nicht to wait ? They’ll be hame directly. Noo, my beauty,” 
and taking her by the waist he pressed her forward on me ; 
“ let’s see hoo ye gang aboot yer wark.” She gave another 
laugh and I was aware her excitement was growing, and when 
Pate whispered, “ Up wi’ the belt,” she obeyed at once. 
“ Bring it over ’m noo ! ” and the strap smote my back. 
“ After ’m, noo ! ” and she followed as I jumped away to 
escape another stroke. 

There was little room to avoid her, for Pate’s neighbourhood 
was as much to be dreaded ; still, on trying to strike me again 
she missed and stumbled. 

“ Damn it ! ” cried Pate. “ Is that a’ ye can dae ? I'd 
never let a rag like that master me. Shorten yer grip and at 
’m again ; it’s fine practice for ye. That’s better,” he went 
on as she caught me a slash ; “ ye’ll dae yet. The same 
again ! Just imagine it’s a bairn o’ yer ain ye’re at. In to 
’m ! In to ’m ! ” and he mixed obscene direction with his 
commands till the woman, worked to the greatest excitement, 
lashed at me in fury. But as she sometimes missed, Pate 
was not yet satisfied. He caught me by the wrists. “ Now 
ye’ll get at ’m ; ” and Florrie brought the belt over me as 
hard and as fast as she could draw. Then I was released and 
the chase began anew, Pate sometimes catching the woman 
by the waist to excite her with his touch. But I ceased to 
run and sank in a corner, where Florrie had me at her mercy. 

“ Now ye have ’m. Speir ’m his questions,” Pate directed ; 
and Florrie, pausing every now and then in her work, would 
ask, 

“ Will ye tell on us ? ” 

“ No, no,” I moaned. 

“ Gie ’m something to mak’ sure,” Pate ordered ; and the 
belt came down on thighs, on hips, on back, anywhere. 

“ And wll ye put on a fire when I bid ye again ? ” 

“ Ay, ay.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 87 

" And will ye beg my pardon and Pate's pardon for sayin’ 
ye’d tell on us ? " 

“ Oh ay.” 

” Dae 't, then ; ” and with strokes to quicken me I moaned, 

" I beg yer pardon.” 

There seemed to be a cessation of the strokes ; then the 
woman resumed, 

” And will ye ” 

But this is all I can tell ; endurance had reached its limit ; 
sense left me. 

When next I was conscious of anything it was of having 
some burden on my back too heavy to bear. It might be a 
great rock crushing me flat. Yet it was not a rock, for it 
was full of knife-points which it pressed steadily, remorse- 
lessly into my flesh. Feeling that it was crushing the breath 
out of my body, I tried to move from under it ; that was 
the only way to escape, I felt, for it was too heavy to shift. 
Even to escape from below it seemed impossible. I was no 
more able to move than one in a dream. But the keen knife- 
points were driving themselves into me so deeply that I must 
make a struggle, though I perished in making it, and darkly, 
blindly, more feebly, more slowly than a worm, I crawled. 
A long way it was, but at last, at last ! I had crawled from 
under the load ; only the knife-points remained. Here comes 
another blank in memory. When sense returned, I was so 
much myself that after a short while's thought I could recall 
what had happened — the flogging in the loose-box, my faint- 
ing. The knife-points that were now piercing and scorching 
my back must be, then, the weals and gashes from Florrie’s 
strap. I writhed and moaned, but they burned on. Then 
I became aware of something rough moving over them ; 
though rough, it did not heighten the torment ; rather, it 
brought soothing wherever it touched. What it was I could 
not tell ; it was a thing so blessed that I submitted without 
question ; I only prayed it might not cease. I may have 
moved a little or the movement may not have been mine ; 
at any rate, I felt something smooth against my arm. There 
was no mistaking the familiar feel : a dog's hair. Then I 
knew that I lay in the barn-loft and that Ranger was licking 
my sores. 

Through the dark hours I lay, that is, I writhed, moaning 
the while. I shivered with col^ for I was naked, and clothes 


88 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


would only add to my torture. Yet for all my torment of 
body and soul, thought was not dead ; after a time, indeed, 
it was working with strange activity. Yes ; in conditions so 
unlikely an inward change accomplished itself ; a resolve, 
new to my nature, was born. 

As I lay in agony I heard a noise at the barn-door below, 
and I knew — for sense was keen — that Florrie had come to 
waken me. But I gave no answer to her call. Soon her steps 
were heard on the stair and, after a pause, on the floor, then 
I heard a cry. Still, I lay motionless. It was only when her 
hand touched me nervously that I stirred ; the touch filled 
me with such disgust, such hate, that I was sickened and had 
strength to push the hand away. 

Ye gied me a fricht, Jamie,” I heard her say. " It’s — 
it’s time to rise. Get up and put on yer claes. Ye’ll be better 
when ye’re up.” As I did not move or answer, though my 
face must have taught her I was quite myself, she went on, 
” Come and I’ll help ye. I — I was mebbe ower hard on ye, 
Jamie. I — I didna think it wad ha’ been sae bad as that. 
Try and get up, man ; it’s past the time. I’ll gie ye a haun.” 

Again I thrust out my hand to save myself from the touch 
and I struggled to rise. The cold must have stiffened the 
wounds on my back and thighs, for at first I could not move, 
and for all my resolution the effort wrung moans from my lips. 

” Let me help ye,” the woman said again entreatingly, as 
I tried to cover my blood-stained body ; but I looked at her 
and the look kept her off. In a little, however, she resumed 
her talk, " I wad never ha’ dune ’t, at least I wad never 
ha’ used ye like that, if it hadna been for Pate. And I was 
nearly as bad as you. I fainted ; did ye ken that ? Pate 
thocht I wad never come roon’. I’ll gie ye something to hale 
yer back, and I’ll tell the master ye’re no just yersel’, and he’s 
to be easy wi’ ye for a bit, and ye’ll sune be a’ richt.” I did 
not speak ; I only took care she should not touch me. 

All that day I went through my work breathing no hint of 
suffering. And it happened to be trying work. Bob was 
finishing a head-rig, and for the last two furrows, those next 
the dyke, he had only room for one horse which I had to lead. 
There was no chance of sparing myself. Clenching my teeth, 
I set my thoughts on the task and tried to forget my pain. 
Bob, who had been kinder to me of late, must have suspected 
that something was wrong, for he asked once if Pate had beeq 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


89 

leatherin’ ” me ; but I said it was nothing, I should soon be 
“ a’ richt.” Old Nicol remarked on my stiff movements 
and trailing gait as I was writing a letter for him in the 
evening. 

“ Florrie tells me it’s the growin’ pains that ails ye, Jamie. 
And faith I ye’re shootin’ up fast, I doot they’re ower guid 
to ye in the kitchen. I can mind I was bad mysel’ when I 
was your age ; but they’ll sune leave ye.” But to old Nicol 
as well I said nothing. 

That night, however, in the bothy, I gave the first sign of 
the change that had passed over me. Usually, after we looked 
the horses at eight o’clock, I brought in the eggs which I had 
stolen during the day and had hidden in odd corners about 
the steading. To-night no eggs were forthcoming. The men 
did not remark the omission for a time ; it was a Friday, and 
they were both busy with weekly papers. As Pate rose to 
strip for bed he demanded, 

” Whaur’s thae eggs for the morn ? ” 

“ I’ve nae eggs,” I said stonily. 

For a few seconds he did not speak, so great was his 
astonishment. 

” Ye’ve nae eggs ! ” he repeated at last ; “ and what’s the 
reason ye’ve nae eggs ? ” 

” I’m no gaun to tak’ ony mair,” I was able to say, though 
it took me all my courage. 

” I see,” Pate remarked calmly. ” Then I’ll just have to 
find a way o’ makin’ ye tak’ some mair ; ” and he leisurely 
strode over to the peg where the old halter was hanging. 

But ere he could get it down. Bob spoke : 

” It’s high time the thing was stoppet ; it’s gane on ower 
long as it is, and I’ll no let anither egg come into this bothy.” 

His neighbour glanced at him with contemptuous surprise. 

” You’ll no let anither egg in here ! And wha the are 

you that’s to keep them oot ? Let me hear that again and 
you’ll go oot yersel’, heid first.” 

” Dae as ye like aboot the eggs,” said Bob, in a tone that 
told of vanishing courage ; ” but I want nae thing to dae wi’ 
them. We’ll get into a damned row yet ower the heid o* 
them, and I want to be oot o’t.” 

” Ye’ll no let anither egg into this bothy,” Pate repeated. 
“ So you’re master in the bothy.” 

” I dinna want to be master. You can tak’ the eggs if ye 


90 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


like. I’m only sayin’ that I’ll no tak’ them whether Jamie 
brings them or no.” 

” Because,” Pate went on, ” if naething’s to come into the 
bothy but what you like, then you and me ’ll have to settle 
wha’s to be master here ? ” 

He was so bent on a quarrel with Bob that he took no 
notice of me, and I edged towards the door and made out. 
It was true that I would have died rather than 5deld ; still, 
I was shaking with excitement and fear. I hung about the 
yard till long after the lamp was out, and only ventured into 
the bothy when Big Pate was snoring. 

He may have felt that my resolution was fixed or, more 
likely, his neighbour’s conduct had made him uneasy ; at 
any rate, my tyrant did not try to make me resume the egg- 
stealing. But in revenge he let his cruelty rage like a flood. 
My body was covered with wounds that never healed. Work 
was turned into a torture : every task gave scope for his hate. 
One day, for instance — it was well on in February — we were 
slaking lime. Many cart-loads of shells lay in a bing in the 
Rash Park ; water had been lashed over it to dissolve the 
shells when it was first laid down, but it had now to be turned 
over and slaked thoroughly. Bob and I were sent down to 
the burn with the water-cart. On reaching the pool from 
which the water was usually drawn we backed the cart till 
it touched the fence ; I filled a pail and handed it up to Bob, 
who, standing with one foot on a stob, the other on the cart- 
wheel, emptied the pail into the filler on the top of the barrel. 
By the time he had the pail emptied and set on the fence I 
had the second ready and witlun his reach. So we went 
on till the barrel was full. When we reached the field, we 
stationed the cart near the bing of lime and set behind it an 
old boiler. When this was filled from the barrel, my task was 
to fill a pail from it and lash the water on the lime as Pate and 
Bob turned it over with shovels. When the boiler got nearly 
empty, Pate drew the plug from the barrel and filled it. 

” What the are ye waitin’ for ? ” he demanded of 

me on one of these occasions. ” Can ye no kep the water 
frae the bung-hole ? ” 

It was a little ere I understood. I was not to wait till the 
boiler was full, but was to catch the water as it gushed from 
the barrel. This would save a little time. As I obeyed, he 
thrust in the plug but only far enough to make the water 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


9T 

spirt out round it. Seeing my clothes drenched, he remarked, 
“ That'll learn ye to keep yer place." 

Next time the boiler had to be replenished he whipped out 
the bung without warning, so that the water spouted over my 
legs and feet. As the barrel had been getting down, the 
water could not gush so far as at first, and the boiler should 
have been moved nearer. Pate knew this, of course ; but it 
gave him a chance to torment me. 

“ Why the devil did ye no shift the boiler ? " he demanded, 
hastily plugging the hole ; and while I was trying to wring 
my wet trousers, he sent me sprawling among the slush. 

He went on to fresh tricks. At one time he would make a 
grab at the plug but would not withdraw it, and he smiled 
grimly at my vain alarm. Another time, after inserting it, 
he would whip it out again if I happened to be near. Nor 
could I lose time guarding myself ; a cuff or a kick, felling 
me among the mud, would have punished the delay. 

The drenching made me uncomfortable enough, but this 
was anything but the worst. The ground was steeped with 
water, and we were moving in a slush of mud and lime that 
went over the boot-heads. The men were prepared for this 
and wore stout leggings ; I had no protection, for I had not 
been warned of the danger. Next morning my ankles were 
so sore that I could not lace my boots tight. It was only 
when Bob saw me hirpling about and asked if my feet had got 
fired with the lime that I could account for the mischief. 
On looking my ankles at night I found a broad red ring about 
each, and the pain was as keen as though I were being branded. 
By day, though I left my boots open at the top, I was like 
to scream with agony when walking over the hard court. On 
turf or red earth the relief was so great that what to others 
would have been pain to me was joy. 

All the torture, all the cruelty, the blows, the kicks, the 
floggings, the unfeeling tricks and jests, I bore in silence ; 
for I had resolved to complain to no living soul, to give no 
one, even Dannie, my confidence. I would take all the cruelty 
as it came ; never would I implore Pate to spare me, never 
would I offer a word of excuse or defence, and never, if I could 
help it, would I shed a tear. Did I hope anything from this 
— any relief, any escape ? None. What, then, inspired me ? 
The recklessness of the helpless and desperate, nerving them 
to bear all and almost glory in their suffering, like the Indian 


92 


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savages who laughed at their Christian persecutors and even 
showed them new tortures to inflict. I could have escaped 
all this agony by running away, but I could not leave Miss 
Maymie’s neighbourhood. Some day the end would come. 
I should die under Pate’s kicks and blows ; but the separation 
from Miss Maymie would not be due to me. Though, at 
times, I was forced to see the truth, that is, I was beginning 
to despair. My queen was more in my thoughts than ever, 
but I felt that instead of getting nearer her I was being pushed 
down, down, and should soon be swallowed by the darkness. 
This despair had threatened me often since that awful night, 
and it was strengthened by one who had nothing but kindli- 
ness to me in her heart. On the second Sunday after the 
flogging I was dragging myself up the Lang Stracht about the 
usual hour of visiting Dannie. Not far from the head-forester’s 
house I encountered wee Teen Gillies. She greeted me laugh- 
ingly, and told me she was going to see her friend, the maid 
at Cambuslochan. 

“ Oh ay,” was all my response, laughter being far enough 
from my mood at the time. 

Teen talked a little longer and then suggested, with the 
same light-heartedness, 

” Ye’ve nae notion o’ convoyin’ me a bit ? ” 

I answered stonily that I should have to go on, Dannie 
would be waiting for me. 

Ye’ll be after that puir gooldie again ? ” she asked. 

” Ay.” 

We seemed to have no more to say for we stood a little 
without speaking, and I was about to bid her good-day and 
trail myself on when she asked, 

” Was' ye in Craigkenneth last nicht, Jamie ? ” 

“ No.” 

And Dannie tells me ye wasna in the Saturday afore ? ” 
“ No.” 

” Ye aye used to gae in on the Saturday nicht.” 

” Ay ; maistly.” 

There was another short silence ; then Teen asked, 

” What’s wrang wi’ yer legs, Jamie ? Ye canna walk.” 

” Naething.” 

” Has Big Pate been leatherin’ ye again ? ” 

I did not speak ; I looked away. 

” Jamie/’ the girl said earnestly, “ ye’re gettin’ an awfu’ 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


93 


look in yer face. I canna bear to see ’t. Ye looket frichtet 
afore, but it’s no fricht noo — it’s something waur ; I canna 
tell what it is. Oh, Jamie ! ye maun get oot o’ that. They're 
killin’ ye among them.” As I made no response she went on, 
“ Wad ye no leave them, Jamie ? ” 

I shook my head. 

“ What can I dae for ye, Jamie ? Tell me, and I’ll dae ’t.” 

I was going to answer that nobody could do anything for 
me, but feeling that the speech was too grand both for wee 
Teen and myself, I merely said that I should soon be “a’ 
richt.” 

We stood silent again till, feeling uncomfortable, I said, 

” I’ll need to be movin’. Dannie ’ll be wearyin’ and Jeanie 
’ll be wonderin’ what’s come ower ye.” 

But little Teen was at the end of her dissembling. Bursting 
into tears she cried. 

It wasna for Jeanie I cam’ at a’ ; it was to see you, 
Jamie. Oh, Jamie ! can I dae naething for ye ? I wad gie 
my heart’s bluid to help ye.” 

I did not respond, and again we stood a while without speak- 
ing. Teen was drying her eyes with her handkerchief, and 
her tears made me yet more uncomfortable ; so after moving 
about awkwardly for a little I repeated that I should “ sune 
be a* richt,” and with a “ guid-day, Teen,” trailed myself 
away. 

But on the first shaving-night, as I was putting up the glass, 
I caught a glimpse of my own face. It shocked even me. 
Not that the face was too pale for one who worked afield, or 
that my blue eyes had the startled look that had dwelt there 
for months. There was something different, something more 
awful, though, like little Teen, I could not tell what it was. 


94 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER X 

A fter that scene in the loose-box Florrie had tried 
to make it up with me, excusing herself, blaming 
herself. To her words I answered nothing. For 
a time she showed me some kindness, taking care 
that I was better provided for in the kitchen ; of this, again, 
I made no acknowledgment. Once, as I was finishing my 
dinner, she told me to kindle the boiler fire in the scullery. 
For the first time I broke silence. 

“ No,” I said in my most determined tones. 

“ Ye’ll be as weel,” she said significantly, and, when I took 
no heed, she added, “Ye mind what ye got already. Will 
ye? ” 

“No.” 

My sullenness for the past days must have kindled anger 
in her heart ; it now burst out. 

“ If ye’ve forgotten sae sune. I’ll gie ye something to mind 
ye ; ” and she made towards me. 

I did not take any attitude of defence, I did not even rise 
from the table : I only looked at her. At my look, charged 
with undying hate, she stopped and quailed. Without a 
word she turned and left the kitchen. But once, not long 
after, she frightened me. It was on an afternoon. I was 
sweeping out the Wee barn when she came in to tell me that 
I was to go to the smithy with Roy as soon as I was done with 
my job. After giving the message she remained standing. 
“Ye shouldna keep up spite, Jamie.” 

No answer. 

“ If I was to beg yer pardon, wad ye be freens again ? ” 

I still kept silence and swept away at the floor. She came 
a little nearer. 

“ D’ye ken, Jamie, I think that leatherin’ has made me 
fonder o' ye.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


95 


I looked at her for warning, but the glow in her eyes was 
so loathsome that this time it was I who gave way. As she 
took a step nearer, I dropped the besom and fled. 

Towards the end of February the two men and I were over 
one day at the Five-acre lifting a corn-stack. The Big Mill 
should have been at the Mailing, but was busy and would not 
be round for another week. The beasts were short of straw, 
and Nicol had ordered us to bring in one of the stacks and 
thresh it with our own mill. While I was on the stack forking 
to Pate on the cart, he whispered, “ Hand on ! " Then, with 
a fierce look and gesture to command silence, he pointed 
ahead. A fine cock-pheasant, quite tame with the hard 
weather, was pecking round the furthest stack. 

“ Slip doon and break its neck wi' a stane," Pate ordered 
in a hoarse whisper. 

I knew there were heavy penalties for killing those precious 
birds ; besides, birds of every sort were sacred to me. I 
slipped down the ladder, then, resolved to let the pheasant 
escape. There were few stones near. I picked up a small 
one that would not have been dangerous had it hit ; but I 
took care to miss. Pate uttered a wild curse, and when the 
pheasant, after running a few yards, resumed feeding, he called 
to me in low but distinct tones, 

“ Tak’ ane o’ thae bricks and fell it or I'll plaster that dyke 
wi' yer brains.” 

Beside the dyke lay the thatch that had been stripped off 
the stack, with the ropes and old bricks for holding it on. I 
seized a broken brick and flung it blindly. It found the mark 
but too well ; the pheasant lay dead. 

I stood in horror. Bob, who was near with an empty cart, 
gave a loud laugh, but when Pate ordered me to hide the bird, 
I hardly knew what he said, and he had to quicken my senses 
with a threat and a curse ere I could obey. Across the dyke 
was a ruined cottage ; here the pheasant was to be hid. 

At night I came back for it and brought it to the bothy, 
where I had to help with the plucking and cleaning. The 
feathers did not come off well, and I got more than one cuff 
for awkwardness. But what was my shame, my remorse, 
when I saw the corn-grains lying in the bird's crop just as they 
had been swallowed when I smote him dead. The pheasant 
was set before the fire to roast overnight and the men dis- 
cussed where the feathers should be bestowed. They could 


96 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


not be burned : the smell might raise suspicion. The dung- 
hill was not safe ; it was on the roadside, and the feathers 
might be routed out by a dog. After long debate the men 
fixed on the Dale Planting, a strip of wood west of the house. 
The feathers were tied up in a newspaper, and the next morn- 
ing, after being at Craigkenneth, I took over a spade and 
buried them in a hillock. 

Two days later, as I was taking in the queys which grazed 
part of the day in a small grass field adjoining the Saugh Park, 
one of them jumped the low dyke and scampered into the 
plantation. Ranger could not manage her, and I went over 
to help. When chasing the beast through the wood, I found 
myself near the hillock, and there I noticed something that 
soon took all my attention. The mound had been tampered 
with since my visit ; part of the earth was thrown up. 
Startled, I cast a searching glance around. There lay the 
bundle I had buried ; the paper wrapping had not been taken 
off, or, if it had, it must have been replaced ; but the string 
was gone and some of the feathers were sticking out. 

I was terrified. Without daring to stop a moment and cover 
up the dreaded bundle I slunk away as if some eye were on 
me. While I was chasing the quey, I asked myself if the earth 
might not have been disturbed by some animal that the scent 
had drawn. But the question had already answered itself : 
my first glance had shown me that the plants on the hillock 
had been removed by human hands. There was no mystery. 
I had been watched either by a keeper or by one who had in- 
formed the keeper. Or else, and the conclusion was the same, 
someone prowling through the wood had noticed fresh spade- 
marks, had searched, had made the discovery. 

Here was something more fearful than Big Pate’s cruelty. 
I should be exposed and punished as a poacher. I had killed 
a pheasant belonging to the admiral, to Miss Maymie’s father. 
The desperate endurance that had held me up for weeks gave 
way. I felt I must share my burden with someone, though 
I would not tell the whole secret ; that would be like speaking 
my own doom. On the next Sunday, then, while Dannie and 
I were again ranging the Satter Wood for the elusive gold- 
finch, I waited till we flushed a pheasant, and then remarked. 

They’d be gey hard on a body for killin’ that gentleman.’' 

Hoy-oy-oy ! I think they wad, the noo especially.” 

” What way the noo ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


97 


“ Close time. D’ye no ken that naebody daur touch a 
pheasant after the first o’ this month, no even the admiral ? ” 

“ And him the laird I And the pheasants belongin’ to 
him ! ” 

“ Disna matter a damn. He could be punished tae if he 
was fund wi’ a pheasant in his hauns.” 

“ Then,” I suggested with faltering voice, ” it wad be an 
awfu’ thing if ony ither body was fund killing ane the noo ? ” 

” Hoy-oy-oy ! Next door to murder,” my friend assured 
me. ” They’d maist hang him.” 

My terror rose to such a height that for the first time I 
turned to Bob and Big Pate for comfort. On the Monday 
night, while the men were lying on their beds smoking and I 
warmed myself at the bothy fire ere going up to the barn-loft, 
I observed, 

” Wad they punish us awfu' if they fund oot aboot that 
pheasant ? ” 

The question, put without warning, made an impression; 
Neither answered at once. It was Bob who spoke first, but 
I could hear Big Pate raise himself in his bed. 

” My God ! they’re noTsuspectin’ onything ? ” cried Bob 
in a startled voice. 

” N-no, I suppose no ; but if they had fund oot, they’d 
hae punished us awfu’, wadn’t they ? ” 

” Hoo could they punish us ? ” demanded Big Pate in 
his gloomiest tones. ” Wasn’t it you that killt the beast ? 
We did naething to ’t.” 

” Naething but the eatin’,” laughed Bob, now recovered 
from his fright. 

” Wha the hell’s to ken we ate it ? For ocht they ken, 
this blasted whalp micht ha’ eaten as weel as killed it. We 
could ha’ sworn that if there had been ony a-dae.” 

Terror was added to terror and I had no more comforters. 
Had the Wanderer been at hand I should have told her all. 
But she had only paid me that one visit since the year began, 
and Miss Maymie’s present still lay in the loft untouched. 
One day I met Nisbet, the head-keeper, in the Saugh Park not 
far from the fatal wood. He gave me a side-nod but did not 
speak, and I felt from his silence and the queer look with 
which he eyed me that he knew all and was merely waiting 
the right moment to pounce on me. Sometimes I had the 
strange wild motion that if Miss Maymie had been near I 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


98 

might have confessed to her. Then I would feel how humbling 
that would be. It was not as a suppliant that I had always 
pictured myself gaining her intimacy. I was to be the pro- 
tector, I was to shield, to save my queen. But no matter ; 
she was far away, and I should be exposed and punished ere 
she knew. Then she would hear the shameful story and be 
filled with disgust. Yes, Miss Maymie was far away. The 
darkness was swallowing my one star. 

I was coming up the Lang Stracht one forenoon some ten 
days after the affair of the pheasant. Old Nicol had sent me 
to the smithy with a broken harrow-tree, for though seed- 
time was still some weeks away, he was getting his implements 
in order for fear the smith should be busy later on. As I 
dragged myself up the road, the iron bar crushing my shoulder, 
a burden of despair bowing my soul, I was asking, as I had 
asked a thousand times already. How was it all to end ? 
Suddenly a word of Bob, unheeded at the time, rose in my 
memory and made all clear. It was the day we were slaking 
the lime. Once, when Big Pate had felled me among the 
slush. Bob put in a mild word of warning : “ Ye’re gaun ower 
faur wi’ the caUan. Damned but he looks like daein’ some- 
thing desperate ; ” to which Pate had answered something 
about a “ damned guid riddance.” The words flashed into 
my memory now, and at once I saw my way. It was so simple ; 
I wondered I had not seen it before. Indeed, I now under- 
stood that ever since the flogging in the loose-box I had been 
moving hitherwards steadily though unconsciously, and it 
needed but a flash at the right moment to show me that I 
was on the road. I was to die, and to die by my own act. 
Here was the escape from the present cruelty, from the threat- 
ened shame. And no unworthy escape ; for even if my faults 
were afterwards exposed, the egg-stealing at the farm, the 
slaughter of the admiral’s pheasant, people would acknowledge 
that I had made good atonement, all that I could make — I 
had died. Miss Maymie would hear of my death and the 
story of my faults would excite no disgust or contempt. I 
had wiped all guilt away. 

The instant the thought of suicide flashed into my mind 
all the preparations seemed made ; they made themselves. 
The place, the time, the way — all was plain. The Maiden's 
Rest — that was the natural spot. I knew the story : a girl 
of the Seton house had drowned herself there to escape a 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


99 


step-mother’s cruelty. I had a feeling that as I had much the 
same need it would be rather a fine thing to do the like. And 
since I meant to die, now was the time. Cruelty was always 
waiting me ; if I went in to the farm just now, it would begin. 

I should escape that. Then the shame for the pheasant's 
death, though ready to fall on me, had not yet fallen : a few 
minutes more and it never would. How lucky it was, I felt, 
that the resolve had come at the time it did ! Had I been 
working alongside others at the moment I could not have got 
away. As it was, I could carry out my purpose instantly. 
Nor was it likely that anybody would prevent me. The farm- 
folk, if they remarked my long absence, would conclude that 
I had been hindered at the smithy. There was no special 
work for me till the afternoon, when I was to go down to 
Barbeth to flag the Big Mill that would be threshing at the 
Mailing to-morrow. Well, they would have to get another 
flagsman, that was all. Even in trifles the chance was favour- 
able ; the iron bar on my shoulder would be a capital weight 
to sink me. 

My step involuntarily quickened. The bruises on my body 
and thighs no longer ached, the rings on my ankles lost their 
fire. When, instead of turning in at the Mailing loan, I held 
the road to Lowis House, I had withdrawn my thoughts 
entirely from things without. I met only one person, and that 
was as I entered the Satter Wood. Hendry, the under- 
forester, was on the footpath, hedge-bill in hand. I think he 
asked where I was bound with the swingle-tree. Certainly 
I made no answer. His other question I do remember : 
Was I looking for Wattie, the grieve ? I said No,” and we 
went our ways. A few minutes more and I stood by the 
lake-side. 

It was a familiar spot and a favourite of mine. The lake, 
nearly an acre in extent, was artificial, an expansion of the 
stream that threaded the woods; but in the long years 
Nature had made it her own. Dannie and I had haunted it 
on Sunday afternoons last summer, when flag-flower and pond- 
lily were in blow, and later when the sedges were so lush and 
plentiful that the lake in parts looked a field of chocolate- 
coloured wheat. I loved it best then, for young coot, moor- 
hen, and ducks of different sorts swarmed in the reeds. To- 
day I gave the scene no heed ; one feeling only I drew from 
the bare trees, the rustling reeds, the sunless lapping waters 


100 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


— the feeling of desolation. As I put down the harrow-tree 
and made ready the string for tying it to my neck, my thoughts 
were busy on a question that had just arisen. Should I 
leave a dying message ? I was aware that many people who 
made away with themselves left letters explaining their 
motives. I did not need exactly to do that ; the people that 
knew me would guess that I had sought an escape from Big 
Pate’s ill-usage. But it would be hard to bear in my grave 
the guilt for the pheasant’s slaughter. Should I not leave a 
dying declaration that the deed was not really mine but had 
only been done under pitiless compulsion ? But even if pen 
and paper had been at hand to write the message, I should 
have had some trouble in preparing it. The story, to be told 
right, would be long. After all, it might not be believed. 
No ; I would not write even were writing possible. Another 
question, kin to this but more, far more momentous, was 
pressing me, though the answer was never in doubt. Should 
I reveal my love for Miss Maymie ? Not, of course, in a way 
to let others know, but only that she might be sure of it her- 
self. Never ! Even had it been possible to disclose it to 
herself alone, pride would have kept me silent. Ever since 
my passion rose, I had believed, except in the darkest hours, 
that it had made itself known to my mistress. I might be 
wrong. Ah, the desolation of that doubt ! Still, as I had 
nursed the darling treasure in my own bosom till now, there 
it would abide. 

These questions settled, I hurried on the preparations for 
death. I had already fixed on the spot, a place where the 
bank was steepest and the water lay deep on a soft bed. It 
was not many yards from where I stood. As I moved to- 
wards it, carrying the swing-tree in my hand, keeping my eye 
set on the spot that would soon have my body, a chuckle 
caught my ear and woke such thrilling associations that, in 
spite of the resolve upon me, I started and cast a glance aside. 
The sound had come from the water’s edge and near the spot 
where I had been standing. Looking round I caught a flash of 
gold, then a point of glowing scarlet. It was the goldfinch. 

I stood spell-bound. The bird had been pecking at some 
reeds that grew by the lake ; now it was flitting towards a 
low sallow. I moved a few paces on to watch it better. It 
had settled on the bush and was pulling at the flossy buds 
that had opened at the approach of spring. As I took yet 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY loi 

another step, it gave the same chuckle, so strange yet so 
familiar, and flew into the wood. I glanced after it with 
strained eyes, but it had vanished. Slowly I turned and 
moved to the spot where it had risen. Then for the first time 
I bethought me that I had forgotten my errand. 

I looked at the water, at the spot I had chosen for my death. 
It had drawn me so strongly before ; it looked strange, alien 
now. Not my resolve only, my whole spirit had changed. 
That call had startled me out of my old life, and though I 
had tried I could not have returned to it. I could under- 
stand in part how the change had come. Not from the note 
of a new bird, but from the associations that note had waked. 
At the moment I had heard the one voice that could have 
arrested me and, even after my eye had witnessed to the truth, 
the confusion did not at once depart. When some minutes 
had passed, I recognised how absurd it was to blend thoughts 
of my mistress with the image of this chance-seen bird ; but 
by that time my old mood was gone and could never return. 
No. This was not the way of death for me ; I was not to 
be my own slayer at all. 

I loosed the string from the harrow-tree that I had kept 
in my hand all the while and after a parting glance at the 
lake, which still wore its unfamiliar aspect, I proceeded through 
the park to the road. A certain excitement, a certain agita- 
tion was on me yet. As I drew near the farm, I felt other 
signs of the change. I had grown less desperate, less careless ; 
I was apprehensive of the reception I should get after my 
delay. Something else that had given me awful concern of 
late came to mind, and I resolved to deal with it too. In 
a word, my mood was more what it had been ere the flogging 
in the loose-box. When I reached the Mailing, I told Nicol 
with anxious seriousness that the smith had been busy. He 
took the excuse and spoke of my errand for the afternoon. 
He would tell me himself when it was time to start for the 
Big Mill. 


102 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XI 

B ARBETH, where I was to meet the Big Mill, was three 
long miles off. As usual, Nicol had left me too little 
time ; yet I did not set about my errand at once. 
The doubt that troubled me must be laid though 
time were lost. When I reached the planting where the 
pheasant had been buried, I entered it and made for the hillock. 
The spot was as I had left it, except that the newspaper was 
nearly into pulp with damp. I had bethought me that a 
scrutiny of the uprooted plants might help me to read the 
puzzle. I looked at them closely. The green blades lay 
strewn about, and I noticed — what I had not remarked for 
alarm the first time — that they were turnip-shaws. Some 
chance-sown turnips must have been growing on the mound. 
Might it not be, then, that some tramps, or perhaps some 
children of the neighbourhood, had come on the turnips and 
pulled them up ? My mood inclining me to the answer, I 
decided it was the true one. What best to do ? Cover up 
the signs of guilt and then, if I could, dismiss all care. I 
found the hole I had formerly dug ; again I laid the pheasant 
to rest and with my foot I kicked a lot of earth over it and 
strewed the turnip-shaws above. Then I started for Barbeth. 

Though legs and ankles were sore, I walked with new spirit. 
The solution I had chosen of the pheasant mystery seemed a 
good omen for my fresh start in life. Even without it the 
world would have looked other than before. I had come 
back from the dead, and after lying awhile in the grave. 
It was not that things looked much fairer, but they looked 
different. Had I been shut up in the house with illness and 
come out after long months, I should have felt somewhat as 
I did now. And it is true that the change was for the better : 
it was as if I had seen the world last in winter, and looked on 
it next in early spring 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


103 


Half a mile from Barbeth as the crow flies, a lane strikes 
off the road, giving a short cut to the Fair Green. If I chose 
it, I might miss the Big Mill, which would, of course, keep the 
main road. No smoke was visible as yet, no snort was to be 
heard. I would take the risk. 

The Fair Green is at the north end of the village — a large 
grassy common nearly square. It has its name from the fair 
that had been held here on midsummer day for many a genera- 
tion. Once a notable market for cattle, still more for horses ; 
now a mere gather-up of shows. The rest of the year the 
green is a camping-ground for vagrants. This afternoon there 
were two caravans, a red and a green one, on the south side ; 
in a corner opposite stood a tilt-cart ; beside it the owner 
was heating a can on a stick fire. I went over to ask if the 
Big Mill had passed. 

He was a man of middle life, a thorough gipsy in look. 
Speaking with an English twang he informed me the Mill was 
not by, and when I seated myself on a shaft to rest he started 
talking. 

“ You don’t know anybody hereaway that happens to want 
a good coacher ? A willing animal, neither too light nor too 
lumbering, fit for cart, trap or plough ? I’d let it go a 
bargain, for I’ve a big stock of cattle at this moment and want 
to reduce it.” 

Two beasts were grazing a dozen yards off. On my asking 
which he meant he indicated a black mare that had her off 
side to us. 

“ She’s gaen in the fore-knees,” I pointed out, the off 
fore-knee badly. Has she been wrocht on the streets ? ” 

The man smiled, and seeing, I suppose, that bluff was useless, 
told me he had bought the mare in Edinburgh, where she had 
been driven in a grocer’s van. 

” She micht be usefu’ for a farmer,” I suggested. ” Her 
knees micht come richt if she was on the soft land awhile 
instead o’ the causey.” 

“ Say,” said the fellow, “ you’re in this line ? Farm, eh ? ” 
When I satisfied him and named the place, he went on, “You 

never think what a fool you are to serve the farmers ? 

Worst slave-drivers on the face of this earth And 

what’ll you make off them? Question if you’ve a dozen 
pounds a year ? ” 

“ Five pounds ten in the half-year,” I replied, and without 


104 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


knowing it I had altered my speech to match with my 
neighbour’s. 

“ There you are,” and he swore fresh oaths. “ A lad that 
knows horses as if he had kept a breeding-stud from his cradle. 
Eleven quid for a year’s work. And most of it lifted in 
advance, eh ? ” 

I assured him my fee for the running half-year was still in 
my master’s hands unbroken. 

That’s better. You’re a steady lad, a saving lad, and 
that makes me want the more to get you out of your poor 
trade. What about changing it and trying mine, eh ? No 
work, nothing but driving in your own turn-out, seeing the 
country, buying horses, riding horses, breaking horses, selling 
horses for twice the money you paid for ’em. How’s that for 
a life ? ” 

Though aware that the fellow was either chaffing me or — 
perhaps in the hope of getting my fee into his clutches — 
wheedling me, I could not keep down a pleased feeling. So 
rarely had I been praised ! So seldom had any parts of mine 
been recognised ! 

Should I be in Craigkenneth on the ploughmen’s holiday ? 
he next asked. That was some time in May, eh ? First 
Monday after the fifteenth ? Well, he would be there as 
sure as there was a sun in heaven and I must be ready to go 
into company with him then. I laughed, though rather 
sadly, for the thought came over me that I should have many 
a cruel thing to bear ere the three months passed ; but my 
new friend continued in his flattering strain : 

“ Say, what’s your name ? — Bryce, James Bryce — I fancy 
you. ’Pears to me you know horses down to the ground 
and you can talk like a book.” 

And indeed I had a pleasure in exercising my long-neglected 
art of ” speaking proper.” The gipsy’s remark reminded 
me of her who had been my teacher, and it suddenly occurred 
to me that he, a vagrant himself, might know of her and be 
able to account for her long absence. He had never heard 
the name, but he promised to inquire as he moved about the 
country, and to satisfy me when we met at Whitsunday. 

I had to leave him, for the Mill was in sight. It had been 
delayed, and I found there had been doubt whether it could 
have got so far. The coals were bad and would not burn ; 
it was useless trying to go further with them The flagsman 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 105 

whom I was to relieve rode in to the village on his bicycle, 
and ere long a cart arrived with a load. The fires were drawn 
and, at my suggestion, were carried to my gipsy friend ; the 
fresh coal was landled. It took a while to get steam up, and 
when we did start the mill-men drove their hardest. My duty 
was to keep, say, twenty yards ahead and, when a vehicle 
met or overtook us, lead the horse past if it seemed restive. 
Till we reached the Greenshiels Burn, I had nothing to do. At 
the burn the Mill stopped, a hose was let down over the bridge 
and a supply of water pumped up. We started once more, 
and as we were moving up the Lang Stracht the men drove 
so furiously that I was kept at a hard trot. Not far above 
Mr. Ralston’s house the Mill ceased puffing, slowed, stopped. 
I looked back, for no vehicle was ahead. One of the mill-men 
pointed to the rear, and glancing past I saw a yellow dogcart 
coming up. The evening was still clear, and I could have 
seen with a far fainter light. The eye had passed the message 
to the heart : Miss Maymie ! 

Though I recognised her at once and knew it was no dream, 
I was helpless. She so near when I understood her to be 
hundreds of miles away ! The wonder ! The joy ! I knew 
the dogcart ; it was from the Royal Hotel in Craigkenneth. 
Miss Maymie held the reins, her father was at her side, a post- 
boy sat behind. The horse had been brought to a walking 
pace and was now close to the Mill ; yet I had not stirred. 

" Hurry up, man, and tak’ the horse by the heid,” one of 
the mill-men called. 

And now had come the chance so long, so often dreamt of 
— had come when I should have called it impossible. A 
thousand and a thousand times I had pictured her in danger 
and myself arriving at the fit moment. It had come. Should 
I prove equal to my fortune ? Nerved as though a myriad 
eyes were on me, I walked forward. My hand was raised 
when the admiral called, “ Don’t trouble. You’ll manage, 
dear ? ” I checked myself an instant ; Miss Maymie answered 
not, and the next moment my hand was on the rein. Care- 
fully, firmly, I held the horse’s head as I led him by, eyeing 
the Mill as a monster from whose first threatening movement 
my queen must be protected with my life. Though I knew 
nothing of it at the time, I can swear I did not hirple while I 
marched on. And when all danger was past and I had to stand 
and release my hold, I found courage — how I cannot tell — to 


io6 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

look into Miss Maymie’s eyes for thanks. Her father gave me 
a quick nod, but she — what had she to give ? Her eyes were 
fixed on mine and I could swear she blushed. Smiling through 
her blushes she said, “ Thank you so much,” and bowed so 
gracefully, so graciously ! Idle to tell me all this was but 
common politeness. I knew that every sign, every syllable, 
was rich with meaning. These were the first words ever 
spoken to me by the bright voice of Miss Maymie. 

When the trap drove on, I waited and gazed till I had to 
jump or the Mill would have run me down. 

That night as I lay in the barn-loft with Ranger beside me, 

I lived over the thrilling experience a thousand times. Yes, 
this was a real meeting, our first real meeting, a strange 
fulfilment of all my dreams. She in danger, I the protector ! 
” Thank you so much ! ” I repeated the words to myself, I 
repeated them to Ranger till the dog, charmed with the fond 
tones, licked my face so insistently that I had to keep silence. 
Then, after I had allowed the scene to pass through my memory 
times unnumbered, I set myself to go through it deliberately 
from the moment the mill-men had called me to the moment 
the yellow dogcart drove away. Had I failed in anything ? 
Was there any chance I had missed ? It seemed not. Indeed, 
I was surprised at my own courage and resource. In spite 
of the admiral’s prohibition I had taken my mistress under 
my care when her silence sanctioned, I had well fulfilled my 
office of protector, and had not been afraid to meet her eyes 
at last and accept my reward. '' Thank you so much !” Yes, 
Miss Maymie’s words confirmed the witness of my own heart : 
I had made the most of the glorious chance ; I had played 
the man. 

And now that we had really met as protector and protected, 
what would follow ? Things would not, could not, be as before. 
How should we behave at our next meeting ? I, of course, 
would not look as if I had any claim on her regard, but she — 
she would look at me with a new tenderness, and shyly, yet 
resolutely, would make advances to dearer intimacy. And 
I would understand her, would go out to meet her. And all 
our loving interviews pictured themselves in my imagination 
more readily, more vividly, than memory could have revived 
the actual past. Ah, blessed bird that had saved me from 
death ! Well was it that I lived ; life had something for me 
yet. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


107 


Not for weeks had I risen so blithely as I did the next 
morning. Miss Maymie was near, Miss Maymie and I were 
friends. The workers at the Big Mill were talking of the 
admiral’s visit, which was understood to be on business. 
How long he would stay nobody was sure. Never had I 
found work pleasanter than I did that forenoon. I was 
tramping straw in the barn. As the great bunches were 
flung off the trusser, they were carried into the straw-barn 
and built up by a ploughman from a neighbouring farm. I 
came after him and trod them down. In the middle of the 
forenoon the whistle shrilled, work stopped, old Nicol and his 
sister, the one with a bottle of whisky and a glass, the other 
with a basket of bread and cheese, went through the workers, 
dealing to both women and men the one refreshment. When 
we resumed work I was put to a new task. The barn was full, 
and the rest of the straw had to be built in a stack outside. 
No tramping was needed, and I was sent up a stack to fork 
on to the cart. 

“ See that he tak’s twa sheaves,” Big Pate called ; “ we’ll 
hae nae hunker-slidin’ here.” 

The first cartful I managed easily enough : the sheaves, 
once on the fork, had only to be dropped to the cart below. 
As the stack sank the work got harder, for the sheaves had 
now to be raised. By the time the second cart was filled I 
had reached the limit of my strength, and durst not ask myself 
what would come next. It happened that we had a good 
interval ere the third cart came round ; there had been an 
accident. An old body, Jess Finlayson, was on the top of 
the Mill cutting the bands. Another woman received the 
sheaves, held them till the bands were cut, then passed them 
to one of the mill-men, who shook them out and fed. Old 
Jess was fond of whisky, and Nicol, for a joke, had given her 
a double glass. The drink excited her, and once, as her 
neighbour was holding the sheaf, Jess drew a reckless stroke 
with her knife and slashed the young woman’s left arm near 
the wrist. Work was stopped for a time. The rest was 
grateful, yet, whenever I thought of what was before me, my 
heart sank. The dreaded moment came. Substitutes were 
found for Jess and her injured neighbour, the humming of 
the Mill began afresh, Wull Gentles’ cart came into the stack- 
yard and drew up alongside me. My fears came true : that 
old pain low down in my right side began to gnaw and soon was 


loS THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

almost unbearable. At every lift I felt that something would 
give way. Gentles remarked my struggles and told me to 
take one sheaf at a time. I was too frightened for Big Pate. 

Weel, let me fork and you can build.” 

Again I refused. 

The next stack I was sent up was mashlum. The sheaves 
were very heavy, and as the man on the neighbouring stack 
was forking one at a time I could do the same. Again, 
however, it was a terrible strain when the stack wore low and 
I had to raise the great sheaves to the full height of the fork. 
We had a long spell of work, too, for Nicol wanted the thresh- 
ing over before we knocked off for dinner. It was near tw'o 
when we stopped, and as we were entering the kitchen I heard 
one of the women who had been on the top of the Mill re- 
mark that the admiral and Miss Maymie were off again : she 
had noticed the trap go down the Lang Stracht. A plough- 
man from the Home Farm corrected her : he knew for a fact 
that Miss Maymie alone was leaving ; the admiral meant to 
stay a week. The news was no comfort to me. 

As I lay in bed that night, wakeful with pain and sorrowful 
thoughts, I heard steps cross the court and I knew the 
mistress was visiting the byre. He Jersey was near the 
calving. 

" Are ye positive her timers no up ? ” I heard Florrie ask 
her the next morning, and old Phemie replied in a positive 
enough tone, 

“ She’s but seven months gane. I was lookin’ the book 
yestreen.” 

That evening it was plain that Sweetheart’s time was near. 
She kept twitching her tail and shifting her weight from side 
to side. That night again, though my side was less painful 
and I had some sleep, I heard the mistress cross the court 
more than once. When I entered the byre in the morning, 
the event was over. Sweetheart was lying with a chaff-sheet 
tied round her ; in a disused stall at the far end of the byre 
was her calf. Old Nicol stood by it. 

” God’s sake ! Was there ever sic an object ? ” he said ; 
and he set it on its feet and held it upright. 

His wonder was not without cause. The creature was a 
bull-calf, in colour like a roe-deer. But the astonishing thing 
was its size. It was no bigger than any of the greyhound 
pups I had seen at Lowis. The spindly legs wobbled beneath 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


109 


its body, diminutive as its body was ; the head was of the 
common size, and would help to dwarf the body still more. 

“ Let it dee,” said Nicol to his sister, who had finished milk- 
ing and had come over to him ; “ it’ll be a mere waste 0’ milk 
feedin’ ’t.” 

“ I’ll let it dee nane, Mony a waur-lookin* cratur has 
thriven and brocht a guid price frae the flesher.” 

“ I tell ye I’ll no hae guid milk wasted on sic an object.” 

Old Phemie never lost her temper except when her brother 
interfered in the duties she looked on as her own. She fired 
up now and the pair had a hot quarrel, in which Nicol charged 
his sister with robbing him, and she threatened to sue him for 
wages for all the years she had been his housekeeper. Nicol's 
sarcasms so infuriated the old lady at last that she rushed on 
him with fingers bent. The farmer turned and ran. 

That day we were fencing. Big Pate, Bob, and I took 
Durham with a cartful of stobs, props, and tools, and went 
over to the Laigh Park, where the fences were in worst repair. 
The men left me to watch the horse and entered the planting. 
I knew their errand. At places the fence needed posts to 
strengthen it and these could be got most easily by sawing 
down a tree. Ere long Bob returned for the cross-cut and the 
hand-saw, and bade me keep a look-out in case a keeper 
appeared. The wind was high and keen, and though I kept 
under lee of Durham I was cold. Tired of standing, I ven- 
tured into the planting and watched the men from a distance. 
They were working on a fine straight young oak and were 
nearly through the trunk. When they stopped sawing, Pate 
struck it some heavy blows with the stob-mallet, and it came 
down gradually and almost noiselessly, the neighbouring 
trees catching the branches and breaking the fall. The men 
proceeded to saw the trunk into lengths of seven feet or so. 
I had to come out and resume my watch ; if the admiral 
knew that old Nicol was making free with his timber there 
would be an uproar. The cold was still keen, and I had to 
move about to keep myself from stiffening. At last I saw the 
men making through the wood with a post on their shoulders. 
They pitched it into the field. 

” Hae ve ta'en oot the lowse stabs ? Pate demanded. 

” No.” 

I thocht ye’d been glad o' some wark to keep ye warm,” 
he growled, ” but it seems I’ll need to gie ye something to 


no 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


warm ye ; ” and he cuffed me with his huge hand, then 
kicked me about like a football. 

In spite of the specific I did feel cold ; the recent blistering 
had, maybe, made my body tender. The wind grew stronger 
and keener, and even Bob complained, though he had the 
work of driving in the stobs. "N^en loosing-time came and 
I went into the boiler-house to sort Prince, I noticed something 
lying on the floor. It was of a ghastly bluish colour. At 
first I was startled ; only after some seconds had I nerve to 
approach and examine it. Seemingly it was the body of 
some diminutive four-legged animal, newly flayed. The legs 
were too long for a cat’s ; they were longer even, in proportion 
to the body, than a dog’s. Soon I understood : it would be 
Sweetheart’s calf. ‘Florrie was over in the bothy after supper 
making the beds, and I heard her tell the men that the calf 
had died that afternoon. There had been another quarrel 
between the master and the mistress. Nicol wanted the 
creature buried as it was, the mistress insisted on having it 
skinned. Neither the farmer nor Florrie would help, and the 
old lady did the task herself. 

“ And that minds me” — and Florrie turned to me — ” that 
you’re to tak’ it ower to the midden and bury it. Ye’ll 
manage it weel eneuch in the dark.” 

As I went into the byre for a graip, the farmer and his 
sister were standing by Sweetheart. Anxiety had made 
them friends again. The cow was very ill ; she lay on one 
side and, though in evident pain, could not turn. Her breath- 
ing was oppressed. Nicol and the mistress were consulting 
as to whether the veterinary should be called. The expense 
was the one objection with both. 

” He could look at Roy’s leg when he's oot, onyway,” 
Phemie suggested ; “ye were sayin’ it’s no just richt yet.” 
Nicol made no answer, and she took his consent for granted. 
“ Haste ye, Jamie, and get the bit cauf put awa’. Then 
3^e’ll yoke Prince in the dowg-cairt and drive in to Saul’s — 
ye ken whaur he stays — and bring him oot wi’ ye. And if 
Saul’s no in, and no like to be, gang to Fraser’s ; that's in 
Queen Street — isn’t it, Nicol ? Ay, Queen Street. D’ye 
hear ? ” 

Saul was at home and came back with me. Sweetheart 
was worse. Big Pate and Bob followed Saul into the byre. 
Farm-hands have a thirst for veterinary knowledge. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


III 


“Is 't inflammation, wad ye say ? “ asked the mistress, 
when Saul had examined the cow. 

Saul was an elderly man, tall and stout, with a gross red, 
shaven face. He was a loud talker and had an outlandish 
accent. I heard somewhere that he hailed from the North 
of England. 

“ We’se gie her every chance. She's a fine beast, and 
'twad be pity if owt gaed wrang. Ye see, Measter Gow, if 
fowk gie up hope, they do nowt ; but if they dinna lose hope, 
they try a’ wayses," and so he went on, but never answered 
a question or imparted the least information. 

He left a bottle which he had brought with him on learning 
from me the symptoms of Sweetheart’s illness. He also 
directed that a big bottle of treacle and hot water should be 
given every three hours. Above all, the cow must be kept 
warm ; hot cloths must be kept on her body and sacks laid 
over these. Somebody must stay with her constantly to 
see that the sacks did not slip off. 

“ T’ lad ’ll do first-reate," he concluded. 

I did not object, and on coming home, after taking the 
veterinary back to Craigkenneth, I repaired to the byre for 
my orders. The cold had grown bitterer with every hour, 
and the warm byre was more attractive than my usual sleep- 
ing-place. But the mistress did not need me ; she would 
watch the precious beast herself. 

The next day we were again fencing, and in the same park 
though at the opposite side. The cold was fiercer than ever. 
While the two men were making free with another of the 
admiral's young oaks, and I was on the lookout, I heard a 
great yelping, and soon a rabbit came tearing up the field 
with Ranger close behind. Not far from where I stood the 
rabbit took refuge in the dyke. Ranger kept yelping and 
jumping about the spot. I had reached it almost as soon as 
he, and I began pulling down the stones. Soon I could dis- 
tinguish the brown fur, and cautiously enlarging the hole I 
pulled the fugitive out. Ranger, delighted with my help, 
kept yelping and springing, but without the loss of a moment 
I let the rabbit free and flung myself on the dog. Though 
he did not try to bite, he struggled furiously and I had my 
work to hold him. Only when the rabbit had disappeared 
at a bend of the wood did I let Ranger go. As I turned round, 
I saw the two men close to the dyke watching me. 


II2 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

Pate*s face at that moment showed a ferocity of hate be- 
yond anything I had ever witnessed. There was some reason. 
The men often nicked a rabbit, and that openly. Nicol quite 
approved ; even the keepers were indifferent so long as the 
rabbits were not meant for sale. I knew all this, and it was 
spite against my tyrant, not pity for the rabbit, that made me 
act as I did. I wanted to do Pate out of a free meal. 

He must have understood, for he did not once speak while 
he seized me, pitched and kicked me about, and at last felled 
me on the turf. In spite of renewed blows and kicks and 
hideous threats I lay still, and the men had to work a while 
by themselves ere I could join them. 

I did not need such punishment ; the cold that day was 
cruel enough. The wind — a nor*-easter — was so high that 
I could scarcely keep my feet, and so keen that it pierced to 
my heart. At times we had to stop and shelter behind 
Durham. The horse himself would have collapsed if he had 
not been covered with a heavy rug. The men could warm 
themselves by work : they took turn about at the stob- 
mallet ; my duties — to carry the nail-can, hand the stobs, hold 
the st enter — were not heavy enough to keep me in heat. 
Twice that day, about eleven in the forenoon and again when 
we had worked an hour or so after dinner, I had a feeling that 
my power of endurance was going : another touch and my 
heart would stop. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


113 


CHAPTER Xli 


A t supper Florrie said, 

“Ye’re to sit up wi’ the coo the nicht. The 
mistress is tired oot. Gang into the byre and 
she’ll tell ye hersel’.” 

I went out, declining, as usual, to answer. The mistress 
was sitting on the milking-stool, her head against the hash- 
chest, her eyes shut, her mouth open. She snored loudly. 
Sweetheart lay on her left side, giving quick deep pants which 
had shifted the sacks and left her body bare. I arranged the 
coverings, and squatting in the stall waited for the mistress 
to waken. Then, growing impatient, I went over and shook 
her. She woke, looking confused and guilty. She must 
have an hour or two’s rest, she said ; she had not been in bed 
for two nights and two days. Saul had been up again in the 
afternoon and left a big powder — she was sure there was 
saltpetre in it and ginger, whatever more — to be dissolved 
and given in an hour’s time. Then I must continue with the 
treacle and hot water, a bottle every three hours. 

“ So ye’ll just sit doon,’’ she concluded. “ The men ’ll 
look to the horse themsel's. And ye'll no need to wait up lang • 
me or Florrie ’ll relieve ye.” 

The warmth of the b3n:e was welcome after the terrible cold 
outside, and my corner of the stall, well lined with straw, 
seemed a snug resting-place. But my body was covered 
with raw bruises and, shift as I liked, I galled some sore. 
Old Nicol came in at night to show me how to administer the 
treacle. 

“ But hoo am I to ken the time ? ” I asked. 

He had not thought of that. I might guess. But no ; 
that would be risky. Or he might leave his watch with me. 
No ; I might break it. This was the plan — he would send 
over the alarm : it could stand on the hash-chest. 


114 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ And ye’li mind this,” he concluded ; “if Sweetheart 
rises, ye maun rin ower to the kitchen directly and let them 
ken. The mistress 11 sleep wi’ Florrie for the nicht, and the 
kitchen door 11 be left open. So yell rin ower if the coo gets 
up, or if ye observe ony change.” 

On the hash-chest beside the alarm stood a stable-lantern, 
and as it was almost opposite Sweetheart’s stall I could see 
the cow distinctly. Her flanks heaved with her short deep 
gasps ; her ears were pointed back — a bad sign, even in my 
inexperienced eyes. I pitied her. She had been so gentle 
and tractable that she was everybody’s favourite, and now 
as I watched her fighting for her life I came to have the feeling 
that she was human, that she understood her situation as I 
might have done myself. Then came gloomier thoughts. 
There was a likeness between Sweetheart and myself ; for 
me, too, the end might not be far away. Ay, the end must 
be near, though I could not tell how it might come. Should 
I die under some savage kick or blow ? Or just waste away 
as I was wasting now ? Sweetheart was luckier than I ; 
she was prized, anxiously tended, had nurses by night and 
by day, and there would be mourning when she died. When 
the end came for me, few would know and none would care. 
Miss Maymie ? Ah ! It was one of my black hours, and I told 
myself she would not even know. She lived in her own world, 
far, far away from her unknown worshipper. This is the last 
thought I remember ; here I must have been mastered by 
sleep. 

I woke in a fright. I had been sleeping and things might 
have gone wrong. A glance at the clock reassured me ; it 
was not yet midnight. Still, I must not sleep again, and 
while I crouched in the straw, thinking of Miss Maymie and 
my own sufferings, I tried to keep my senses alert, and I stirred 
whenever my eyes grew heavy. I had given one dose of 
treacle, which the cow swallowed with little trouble, and, in 
spite of my resolves and efforts, I was yielding to drowsiness. 
They could not blame me, was my thought ; the women should 
have come as they promised. 

It was about one o’clock when something happened. Sweet- 
heart, who had lain all night on the one side, panting cease- 
lessly but never moving, suddenly stirred, and almost ere I 
was aware struggled to her feet. The movement affected 
me with joy as well as surprise : the poor beast was to live. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


115 

My orders had been to rouse the kitchen if any such change 
took place, but there was something to be done first. Sweet- 
heart had been left unchained for fear of being choked, but as 
I saw how unsteadily she was standing I felt some support 
was needed. Behind the hash-chest was a hank of tarry 
rope ; I reeved it through the spars of the hack and fastened 
Sweetheart by the horns. 

Then I hurried to the kitchen. For all my haste and 
anxiety I felt the cruel cold as I crossed the yard. 

“ Mistress ! Mistress ! ” I called on entering the kitchen. 

No answer. 

I called again, standing by the bed where the sleepers were 
snoring. Still no answer, so I shook the nearest one. It 
turned out to be Florrie ; the kitchen lamp hung so low that 
I had not been able to distinguish. She started at my touch ; 
I started also, and, scrupulously avoiding contact with her, 
I leant over and roused her neighbour. Old Phemie said, 
“ A' richt,” adding with a long yawn that she would be in 
a minute. When I reached the byre. Sweetheart was still 
upright and, though panting as when she lay, was wonder- 
fully steady. I felt she was saved. For a time I employed 
myself keeping the sacks on her back for fear of cold, but when 
many minutes had passed without bringing the mistress I 
concluded she had fallen asleep, and I repaired to the kitchen 
once more. Both women were sleeping heavily and I had 
again some trouble in wakening them. This time, however, 
I made old Phemie understand that not an instant must be 
lost, and as she was now thoroughly awake I left satisfied. 
Sweetheart still kept her feet, though she was shaky. The 
pile of sacks was a crushing load, yet I durst not take any off ; 
if she caught cold, I should be blamed. After shifting her 
feet a while she began to stagger, and it needed all my strength 
to hold her up. Still no one from the kitchen. The cow^s 
legs were now giving way ; she was rocking so that I could 
not support her. If only help would come ! For I durst not 
leave the byre. Sweetheart had now slipped so far back that 
the rope was taut ; it and my arms were alone keeping her 
up. The worst was that from the time the rope tightened 
she used the little strength left her to drag her head from it, 
her best stay. She tugged and strained outwards, the rope 
broke, and Sweetheart, with nothing now to resist her^ — for 
I had to slip aside to avoid being crushed — staggered back 


ii6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


out of the stall. When her feet caught on the grip, she 
crashed down on the brick floor. My heart sank, yet I did not 
suspect the worst. 

The other cows were now excited ; some had risen. One, 
the cow to the right of Sweetheart, was a black beast, strong 
and wild. Sweetheart was now lying close behind her, and 
Sootie, kicking out fiercely with her hind hoofs, struck her 
on the brow. The dull thud filled me with terror. The 
Jersey’s head lay in the grip, else she might have been able 
to draw it away. Though I narrowly escaped being kicked 
to death, I tried again and again to shift it, but the weight of 
her body always dragged it to the old place. The kicks, 
savage though they were, had not affected her much ; her 
panting continued just as before. I stood in terrible perplexity. 
Should I run over to the kitchen for help, or do my best alone ? 
After a pause Sootie struck out more wildly than at first, and 
every stroke caught Sweetheart’s brow. Again I tried to 
shift her head and failed. But as I was rising I grew aware 
of a change in the poor sufferer ; her panting got quicker 
but much lighter, then it stopped ; the head fell back a little 
on the edge of the grip ; it felt quite limp. Sweetheart was 
gone ! Once more Sootie kicked out, and the terrible deathly 
thuds, sounding on the poor brow, affected me as much as if 
the victim had been alive. Strange, unnatural it seemed to 
me, that a creature should treat one of its kind so cruelly ; 
the cruelty should come from another race, from man. Again 
I tried to shift the head and, whether that there was no 
resistance now or that I was desperate, I succeeded. Then I 
hastened to the kitchen. The women were asleep once more. 

Mistress ! Mistress ! ” I called so sharply that both 
women answered at once ; are ye no gaun to rise ? ” 

Old Phemie was soon on end. 

“ I had faun ower, I doot ; I’ll be up the noo.” 

Ye can get up but ye’re owre lang aboot it.” 

” Is there ony thing wrang ? ” 

” Ay, faur wrang. If ye had come when I ca’d ye, it micht 
ha’ been different ; ” and without more words I left her. 

This time she was roused in earnest. Ere I had been many 
minutes in the byre, she joined me. I had removed the rope 
from the hack and from Sweetheart’s horns, fearing some 
fault might be found. 

“ She’s deid, she’s deid,” said the mistress, with a long sigh. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


117 


This was all the moan she made. Perhaps she was not suffi- 
ciently awake yet to feel the loss. “ Hoo did she get on to 
the floor ? " she asked in a little. 

She got up, and it was then I cam’ ower for ye. This 
is the third time I’ve ca’d ye.” 

” Ay, I ken. I was fair worn 00 1 for want o’ sleep. But 
it wad ha’ made nae difference ; nae thing could ha’ been dune.” 

While she was examining the cow’s body, I told her as much 
of the story as I thought safe : how Sweetheart had risen, 
how on my return from the kitchen the first time she was still 
on her feet, but had afterwards staggered out to the floor and 
fallen. About Sootie’s part in the tragedy I said nothing. 

** If ye had come even when I ca’d ye the second time, she 
micht ha’ been leevin’ yet,” I concluded. 

” Na, na,” said the mistress, who had now finished her 
scrutiny ; it’s been strong inflammation ; we could ha’ 
dune naething. Ay, I’m vexed to lose her ; she was a steady 
milker and a canny beast, as quaet’s a lamb. Weel, weel, it’s 
by noo. And Jamie, ye needna say onything aboot me or 
Florrie no risin’ ; it micht get Florrie into a row. And ye 
can slip awa’ to yer bed noo, Jamie ; ye’ll be needin’ ’t.” 

“I’ll better lie here for a’ the time,” I suggested. My 
visits to the kitchen had taught me that the cold was fiercer 
than ever, and I did not care to exchange the warm byre 
for the barn-loft. I lay down in Sweetheart’s empty stall, 
gathered the straw about me, and was asleep at once. 

I woke with a cry of pain and the next moment I was on 
my feet. Big Pate had roused me with a kick, and was 
quickening my senses by cuffs on the face and head. 

” D’ye mean to sleep a’ day ? ” he demanded with oaths. 
” Will ither folk hae to yoke for ye ? ” 

I became aware that the milking was over. All the men 
were in the byre. Sweetheart’s death and the preparations 
for removing the body would be the excuse for disturbing 
them. Big Pate was in a savage temper. 

” I believe the beggar’s been sleepin’ a’ nicht. What 
way did ye no ca’ somebody when the coo got up ? ” 

I looked to the mistress, who said, 

” He did ca’ us, Pate, ou ay. And I cam’ ower. But 
naething could be dune ; it was strong inflammation, ye see. 
Noo, haste ye, Jamie, and yoke. But tell him aboot the 
knacker, Nicol.” 


ii8 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

The master gave me my instructions. After I delivered 
the milk, I was to go to the knackery in Drummond Road and 
leave word for Filshie to send out a cart at once and have the 
beast removed. 

The wind was so bitter that though I had provided myself 
with sacks I was almost helpless by the time I reached Craig- 
kenneth. My hands could hardly feel the milk-cans at the 
dairy. I hirpled alongside the cart to Drummond Road. 
This was a street on the outskirts of the town, not fully built 
on as yet ; part of the ground was occupied with wooden 
sheds. The dairy people had told me that Filshie’s stables 
were on the right hand and well along ; but this was little 
help. The buildings had nothing to distinguish them. No- 
body was astir, no window was lighted. I walked along 
beside Prince, and was near the very last buildings of the 
town when I heard voices, and soon I made out two persons 
advancing on the footpath. I waited till they should come 
within the light of the cart-lamp, but ere I could speak they 
stopped and took the word : 

“ Where does this road go to ? 

The question astonished me, and the appearance of the new- 
comers had already excited my interest. They were a young 
couple, both very tall and, as I now saw, fresh-cheeked and 
good-looking — as comely a pair as one could meet. They 
were well dressed and carried a big bundle apiece. 

In answer to the man’s question I said the road led to 
Craigkenneth. 

He did not speak at once. At last he asked, 

“ This’ll be Craigkenneth we’re coming to ? ” 

I told him it was. By this time I had remarked that he 
spoke with a slight brogue. 

“ And where does the road lead to after that ? ” 

I was confused at the question. When I gathered my 
wits I told him it went through the village of Lucas, and I 
named the first town beyond. 

He made no answer and I began my questions. Was there 
a light in any of the buildings they had passed ? I was 
looking for stables — a knackery — Filshie’s. 

The young woman replied, speaking very correctly and 
purely. They had seen no light, but that building — indi- 
cating one they had just passed — looked like stables. 

I mentioned that Filshie’s was on the other side. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


119 

She couldn’t tell, then. “ But there’s someone coming,” 
she added ; and I could hear distant footsteps, and soon made 
out a figure passing a lamp-post. We all waited the stranger’s 
approach, but ere he had moved far he stopped, and after a 
few seconds’ halt turned slowly up a lane between two build- 
ings. I put round Prince’s head and walked on with my new 
acquaintances, the three of us talking about the terrible cold. 
At the lane-mouth nobody was visible, and the pair, after 
lingering a moment, moved on, remarking that it was too 
cold to stand. I did not care to lose my chance and I 
waited. 

Soon the steps were heard up the lane, now nearer, now 
further away. The person was evidently sauntering back 
and forward — a watchman perhaps. I left the pony and 
went up. The lane was very dark ; the wind, pent between 
the buildings, was so furious that I could scarcely battle 
against it. When the footsteps sounded near, though I 
could hardly see the figure, I asked for Filshie’s knackery. 
No answer. I came nearer and repeated the question. Still 
no word. I repeated it louder, thinking the wind might have 
drowned my voice. Still the person kept silence, but he pro- 
ceeded down the lane. I followed him, wondering. When 
we were near the cart-lamp I could see he was a young man, 
slightly built, thin-faced, with some scanty reddish hair 
about his lips. His clothing was poor. Once more I asked 
the way to Filshie’s knackery. He stood silent, but moved 
his right hand quickly to his mouth and ears. This he did 
again and again. At last I understood : he was deaf and 
dumb. I shrank in horror and even when I got to Prince’s 
head I glanced back fearfully lest he should be following. 

Some distance on I met a labourer bound for his work, his 
piece under his arm, a flask in his pocket. He told me I 
was past the knackery, and he indicated its whereabouts. 
At the same time he would recommend me to go to Burns 
Street, where Filshie had his main stables. A man was on 
duty there all night. I knew the street, and after the navvy’s 
direction I soon found the building ; it was the only one, 
except a dwelling-house, that had a light. I gave my message, 
got into the milk-cart, and gathering the sacks about me, 
started for home. 

The wind, which had gathered strength and keenness every 
hour, was now in my teeth. Soon I had to get down from the 


120 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


seat and snuggle on the floor of the cart for shelter. Still the 
cold cut me through. My spirits, too, flagged ; awful dark- 
ness settled on me ; such a horror of gloom as I had not 
known since the day I stood by the Maiden’s Rest. Weird 
fancies oppressed me about the people I had encountered 
that morning. The young couple, well-dressed, tramping at 
that hour, asking if this was Craigkenneth they were entering, 
asking where the road led to after that — queer, queer. The 
young fellow who spoke no word in answer to my repeated 
questions, who pointed with his fingers to his ears and open 
mouth — I shuddered with horror. Yes, I was marked out 
for mischances above others. All I had suffered, all I was 
likely to suffer, rose to view. Big Pate’s blows and kicks and 
floggings — I bore their marks in weals and gashes ; and fresh 
torture, worse torture would come. One of these days a 
savage blow would split my skull and make me an idiot for 
life, or a kick would break my back or leg and leave me a 
hunchback or a cripple. And I could not run away, all 
Pate’s cruelty could not drive me away ; I was chained. So 
the only escape was death, and once more death began to 
draw me. The truth is, I suppose, the horror of gloom that 
engulfed me had its rise in my bodily weakness : the cold was 
chilling my life-blood. I was now clear of the town, and was 
feeling as I had felt more than once the day before — another 
touch and I should sink. At first I had thought of getting 
out of the cart and walking or running alongside to revive 
myself. Now I was past that ; the effort to move was not to 
be dreamed of. 

In Whistleton smithy there was a light and the ring of an 
anvil ; it may have been these signs of human activity that 
changed my thoughts : they turned to Miss Maymie. And it 
was strange. Always before, when I was dreaming of my 
queen, the dream would not flow on if I was in pain or any 
bodily discomfort. She came to me now, and never surely 
had I been in worse state — bruised in every limb, chilled by 
the merciless cold till my next heart’s throb might be the last. 
She came to me now, and my dream flowed like a gliding river. 
We walked together in the park ; the air was sunny, the grass 
was freshest green. We smiled into each other’s eyes, and 
there was a new light in the eyes of both. For at last, at 
last ! I had found courage to tell her of my long worship, 
and she — she had owned that long she had loved me bacL 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 121 

Then we confessed the sweet longings, the hopes, the appre- 
hensions that had haunted our hearts while yet we loved in 
secret. And at length I grew bold and confided the doubt 
that used to torture me most. I was so weak, so mean, and 
she so high in place, so rich in Nature’s gifts as well, that I 
sometimes feared — oh, maddening doubt ! — I could be nothing 
in her eyes. And the sweet voice — with the bird-like chuckle 
in it still for all its earnestness — made answer, 

“You were the world to me from the first. For I knew you 
would become so great and noble that I should count it a glory 
to be your worshipper. You will — you will be . . . ’* 


122 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XIII 

W HERE was I ? The place was strange, very differ- 
ent from the dark scene I had last known. Per- 
haps I was dead : I might have died under the 
grip of the awful cold and now I would be on the 
other side. Yet the place, though quite strange, was not like 
anything fancy had pictured in the world of the dead. I saw 
a wall-paper of a light sprig-pattern, bed-clothes that seemed 
to be covering me, a curtained window, a table with a big 
looking-glass on it, some chairs, and — lighting and warming 
the whole — a soft rich glow. A certain uneasiness soon made 
itself felt, then grew to pain. Yes, I was awake ; the pain 
that had wakened me came from the weals and scars on my 
body. I was awake, but in some strange place. Where ? 
No guess could help me. I must trace my movements as 
far as memory could guide. I had been to Craigkenneth with 
the milk and had left a message for Filshie, the knacker. On 
the way home I had felt the cold terribly and had seemed like 
fainting. I could recall that at Whistleton smithy Miss 
Maymie’s image had risen, and I could even remember the 
scene my fancy had set her in. We were walking in the park 
and had confessed our love. That day-dream must have 
passed into a dream of sleep, for other faces had appeared, 
faces of some who had looked kindly on me at some former 
time. After that I knew nothing till I woke in this lighted 
room. The strain of recalling these past moments may have 
exhausted me. I fell asleep. 

When I woke again I knew there was someone near, though 
I was so drowsy, or rather so weak, that I could not trouble 
to open my eyes. When I did look up I got a start. Was 
something wrong with my brain ? Beside me was the lady 
I had seen in my dream — not Miss Maymie, but one as gentle 
if not as fair. She spoke ; 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


123 


“ Do you know me, my wee man ? " 

But I was so bewildered that I kept looking and gave no 
answer by word or sign. She watched me a while, then 
moved away. 

Later — how long after I could not tell — she came back, 
though only to show a gentleman in. The new-comer, with 
his erect figure and long grey moustache, looked an old army 
man. I knew him at once for the local doctor. He turned 
down the bed-clothes, felt the cloths and rubber bottles that 
lay close to my body. 

“ How did you get these sores ? '' he asked. 

I hesitated. 

“ Speak out ; don’t be frightened with me. I’m told it 
might be the ploughman at the Mailing that has been abusing 
you. Is that so ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

” Mackinlay ? ” 

” Yes.” 

” Do they pain you much ? ” 

” They’re not very bad just now.” 

He gave a ” hem,” and was about to leave when I asked, 
” Please, Doctor Finlay, where am I ? ” 

” Oh ay. Why, you’re at Cambuslochan — Mr, Ralston’s.” 
” Was ’t Mr. Ralston that found me ? ” 

” Well, it was his man, at any rate. What's the last thing 
you remember ? ” 

I told him about passing Whistleton smithy and feeling like 
to faint under the cold. 

” Ah, well, it did floor you in more ways than one ! Mr. 
Ralston’s man found your horse making up the Lang Stracht 
without a driver, and when he stopped it he found you sense- 
less on the floor of the cart. He brought you up to the house, 
and the worthy folk have been working all day to bring you 
round.” 

” Is ’t not morning yet ? ” I inquired. 

” It is not, sir ; it’s eight o’clock at night, and this is the 
second visit I’ve paid you. So get well as fast as you can, 
and don’t have me coming much oftener.” 

He was again making for the door when I stopped him with 
another question, 

” Is Prince all right ? ” 

“ Who’s Prince, pray ? ” 


124 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ The pony." 

“ Oh, I see. Well, I heard nothing about him ; but Fll 
send Mr. Ralston in for a minute, and he’ll satisfy you.’’ 

It did me good to see my friend’s frank, kindly face. He told 
me his man had taken Prince up in the morning, and that old 
Mr. Gow had called later to ask for me. 

Next da)^, while his young wife was feeding me with beef- 
tea from an invalid jug, Mr. Ralston mentioned that a visitor 
had inquired for me that morning. Could I guess who it was ? 

I guessed old Nicol. 

He laughed. 

“ A much greater man than your old uncle, Jamie." And 
when I was at a loss, he informed me it was the admiral. 
"You were sleeping, so we didn’t waken you. But he means 
to call to-morrow and have a talk with you ; he goes off 
to-morrow for the south." 

How had the admiral heard about me ? Why was he show- 
ing an interest in me ? I made many a wild conjecture. 
And I had time ; for a soft, deep cough had started and kept 
me awake. When Mrs. Ralston came into the room the next 
forenoon to tell me that the admiral had called, I was certainty 
feeling ill enough, and my appearance must have told my 
state, for after my visitor had asked how I did he answered 
the question himself, 

" You’re not looking very bright, my poor lad." 

Seating himself at the bedside, he questioned me in his sharp, 
jerky way about the ill-usage I had suffered at the Mailing. 
He made me show him my bruised legs, and at the sight he 
grew indignant. He had already spoken both to Mr. Gow 
and Mackinlay, he told me. Mr. Gow had professed to know 
nothing, Mackinlay had denied everything. 

" I’ll speak to them again this very day and I’ll speak to 
them in a way they won’t forget, I couldn’t have believed 
that such things were done on my property. It’s a disgrace, 
a scandal. Meiklejohn must take an oversight of the farms, 
and see that the young people are well treated. I’ll tell him 
at once. It’s simply astounding that this could have gone 
on so long — since Martinmas, isn’t it ? — at our very doors. 
I should have been told of it months ago. Hard to tell how 
long it might have gone on if your friends hadn’t, in their 
peculiar way, forced it on my notice." 

He would remark my astonished look for, without saying 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


125 


more, he took a small pocket-book from his breast-pocket, 
selected a letter, and removing it from the envelope, handed 
both to me. The exertion of raising myself in the bed brought 
on a coughing-fit, and for all my curiosity and excitement it 
was some time ere I could begin the reading. The envelope 
was addressed to Admiral Seton, and had the Lucas post- 
mark. The letter ran : 

Honoured Sir, 

“ I take the pen in hand to tell you that a boy in 
this place will soon be murdered if you do not save him, and 
his name is James Bryce, serving with Gow at the Mailing 
Farm. The first ploughman, Pate Mackinlay, kicks him 
every day and leathers him with a halter, and he is black 
and blue under the clothes, as witnesses can certify. Pate 
wants to drive him away because he thinks Mr. Gow may 
make him his heir. And he is lying at death’s door at Mr. 
Ralston’s, Cambuslochan. Oh, honoured sir, he has no one 
to help him but you, and he has no father or mother. So if 
you will save him, the blessing of the orphan and the father- 
less will be upon you. 

“ Honoured sir, please excuse the great liberty of writing 
you. You being the laird and not needing to care for anyone 
and so can help him,” 

As I lay back, looking at the letter, the admiral said, 

” I didn’t know what to make of it at first. However, I 
looked in at the Mailing and questioned Mr. Gow and Mac- 
kinlay, and I must say I never liked Mackinlay’s looks ; he 
seemed a fellow fit for anything. Still, I couldn’t have taken 
the story on anybody’s word. If I hadn’t seen the state of 
your body with my own eyes, I should have said the thing 
was impossible. Why, it could hardly have been expected 
among savages, and here, among an intelligent educated 

people and on my own property ” 

His indignation made him forget, if he ever thought of it, 
to ask if I knew who had written the message that brought 
him to my aid. I did know the writer, the writers rather, for 
they were two. Some things in the letter were known only 
to Dannie Martin, and the hand was the hand of little Teen. 


End of Part I 







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PART 1 1 
The Mansion 














THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


129 


CHAPTER XIV 

W HEN I was beginning to crawl about, the Seton 
factor, who had visited me shortly after the 
admiral, called a second time. He told me, 
none to my surprise, that old Nicol did not want 
me back till I was fit for work. 

“ However,” Mr. Meiklejohn continued, ” Admiral Seton 
left word that I was to take charge of you. So IVe arranged 
with Mrs. Dawson — you know Jean Dawson — that you’ll 
stop with her in the mean time. Mr. and Mrs. Ralston have 
been uncommonly kind, and we mustn’t give them any more 
trouble.” 

“ Jamie ’sno trouble at all,” the young lady said, “ and I 
don’t think he’s strong enough yet to be moved.” 

” That’ll only be a ten minutes’ business,” said the factor, 
“ and when everything is arranged we’d better have no delay. 
So to-morrow, or the first fine day. I’ll send the trap down.” 

” I’m of the same opinion as my wife,” Mr. Ralston said. 
” It’s rather soon to remove Jamie, if he has to be removed 
at all. He’s in nobody’s way here.” 

” That’s very kind of you, Mr. Ralston. Still, he would 
need to leave some time, and when everything’s ready he had 

better leave now. You’ve done ” 

” I feel, anyway,” Mr. Ralston interrupted, ” that Jamie 
should be left to decide for himself. Do you want to leave us 
already, Jamie ? I don’t think you’re very anxious ; ” and 
he smiled kindly. 

“You don’t feel it would do you any harm to have a drive 
up the Stracht ? ” Meiklejohn asked, smiling also. 

I answered nothing. To leave my friends would be no 
pain ; to stay and burden them would be no shame. The 
heart had been taken out of me by my illness ; I was ready to 
let people do with me as they pleased. 

K 


130 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


The factor gave his own meaning to my silence. 

That’s all right, then, James. If it’s dry^ to-morrow, 
Harry ’ll drive down for you. See that you’re fine and 
strong ; ” and along with my two friends he sauntered out 
of the stackyard, where they had found me resting. 

One reason I was quartered on the Dawsons was, I suppose, 
that they were the only couple on the estate who were child- 
less and could make room for a lodger in their but-and-ben. 
And Jean was a favourite with the higher powers. She 
deluged them with flattery, and in return got scraps from their 
table. Everything about the woman — her thin, small, rest- 
less figure, her white, wizened face, her shrill voice, her false 
wheedling address, above all, her slovenly ways, would have 
sickened me had I not been past caring for anything. Her 
husband was a labourer on the estate. Toil abroad and 
tyranny within doors had robbed him of what spirit had ever 
been his, and his voice was seldom heard except on Saturday 
nights, when he came home from Craigkenneth with six- 
pennyworth of raw whisky in his stomach. Often, while I 
lay wakeful at nights, did I hear Jean discoursing to him of 
my state. “ He canna last lang noo ; that hoast o’ his would 
finish a stoot man, and he eats next to naething.” And once, 
as the pair sat in the kitchen after the midday meal, she 
remarked, If he’s awa’ within a month it’ll gie us time to 
look oot for lodgers for the Fair week.” Though there was a 
wall between us, my fancy could see the small frowsy black 
head give a jerk in my direction. 

The doctor seldom visited me. He would know I was 
doomed, and he would not think my life worth prolonging. 
Mr. Meiklejohn spoke kindly when we met, but he never 
called at the cottage. The admiral’s people were all in 
London. My butty, Dannie Martin, left at Whitsunday to 
drive a grocer’s van in Fallowkirk, where his parents stayed. 
Little Teen left at the same time. She quarrelled with her 
mistress and took a fee north of Craigkenneth. So I was 
alone. Death did not scare me, did not interest me. I was 
interested in nothing, in no one, even Miss Maymie. I walked 
in a dream, and the world I drew my languid breath in, with 
its busy dwellers, its summer skies, its woods and meadows, 
ay, its singing birds, so dear before, was remote as the moon. 

Once only was my interest wakened. An old body who 
peddled cheap lace, tapes, needles, and the like wares came to 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


131 

the cottage door one forenoon. She seemed to be a regular 
caller, for Jean gave her a warm welcome, purchased from her 
basket and made her a cup of tea. Jean’s energies went all 
to gossip, and her visitor had the news of the whole county. 
Many a name was turned over by the pair. Mrs. Seton was 
in poorer health than usual, and the admiral was growing 
anxious. How the old packwife knew the condition of the 
lady’s body, not to say her husband’s mind, she did not ex- 
plain, but she spoke of both with as much assurance as though 
she had come post from London and brought the report 
from the pair themselves. This topic exhausted, she started 
another. 

“ Ay, that’s anither we’ll no see in this kintraside.’' 

Wha’s that ? ” inquired her hostess. 

“ The Wanderer.” 

The name woke memories, and for the first time for months 
I listened. 

” What way that ? She's — she’s no deid ? ” 

” That is she,” said the old woman placidly, and she went 
on to give the story. The Wanderer had fallen seriously ill 
somewhere in the neighbourhood of Glasgow, and had been 
taken to a hospital. She was seen to be past hope, and she 
had such a loathsome disease upon her that they smothered 
her. 

I was kept awake most of that night by my cough as I had 
been with the pain in my side on the night when I first met 
with the Wanderer and found in her a friend and a nurse. 
She was much in my thoughts. Never, never again ( Those 
nights when I used to leave the bole unfastened, the ladder 
handy, and to wait with something like expectancy for the 
stumbling footsteps in the stackyard, seemed years away. I 
felt old. Miss Maymie’s gift, the little box of chocolate that 
I had laid aside for the poor vagrant, came to mind. Never, 
never again ! I knew I should soon follow her. And I did 
not care. 

Early in July, a good month before their usual time, the 
Setons were back. I overheard Jean tell that Mrs. Seton had 
felt worse and wanted home. One day towards noon, a day 
of fresh sweetness, I was crawling through the park when the 
cough attacked me so fiercely and clung to me so long that I 
had to lie on the grass and gasp. While I was struggling for 
breath I heard voices and footsteps near. Then there was 


132 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


silence. I raised myself and looked round. On the loan 
stood Miss Maymie and her young brother, both equipped 
with rods and creels. She wore a grey costume and a blue 
cap. While I gazed she walked on, and after a little hesi- 
tation Master Reggie followed, though he looked back more 
than once. 

An age had passed since I had seen that face, yet it had not 
lost its power. At the first glance I had felt my heart stop, 
then start its wild bounding, just as of old, just as of old. 
Delicious dreams began to flow in wild rhapsodies. She had 
stood and looked at me ; she must have recognised me. I 
pictured her calling at the cottage on her way home and 
leaving a string of trout. I actually waited for her the whole 
afternoon, and waited in vain. 

The next day I was so ill that I could not rise. When I 
was able to get out, I saw nothing of Miss Maymie. She 
may have been little out-of-doors, for her mother, I heard 
Jean say, was worse ; an operation was thought of ; a great 
professor was coming to examine her. One afternoon, ten 
days maybe after that glimpse of Miss Maymie, someone 
hailed Jean at the door. I recognised the admiral’s voice. 

“ Yes, Jean,” he was saying as he came into the kitchen, 
” I knew you’d be glad to have the news. Yes ; Sir William 
is quite satisfied there’s nothing serious the matter.” 

” Eh, but I’m prood to hear that, admiral,” Jean responded, 
more unctuously even than her wont — I actually believe she 
pretended to be crying ; “eh, but her trouble has been a sair 
thocht to me. And to think that she’s like to be hersel* 
again and nae operation needed ! ” 

“ No operation, Jean. It’s a blessed thing, isn’t it ? Sir 
William believes she has a long, happy life before her yet.” 

The admiral was in that exalted mood when a man is ready 
to shake hands with a beggar on the road. His voice was high 
and tremulous, and threatened to break with tears of joy. 

“ Eh, sirs, that’s as guid news as though somebody had left 
me a fortune. And to think that oor leddy ’ll gang oot and 

in among us as she used to dae. I was just sayin’ ” And 

Jean might have poured forth her oily words for hours if the 
admiral had not broken in : 

“Yes, Jean, it’s a happy day for us all, and we want to 
make others share in our happiness. Is your lodger at home, 
Jean ? The lad that’s ill, I mean. Yes, Jamie. Well, Sir 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


133 


William here wishes to see him. It was Reggie that suggested 
it. When the poor things heard that their mother had nothing 
seriously wrong with her, Reggie asked, Wouldn’t Sir William 
try to cure the boy with the cough ? And Sir William was 
very kind ; he consented at once. But time’s precious ; 
yours is, at any rate. Sir William ; ” and the admiral put his 
head in at my door as he was speaking. “ If you’ll just step 
in — yes, we’ll leave you till you’re ready. Sir William has 
come, James, to see if he can do anything for your cough. 
He has been seeing Mrs. Seton, and you’ll be glad to hear that 
she’s likely to be quite herself ere long.” 

The visitor had sat down. He was a rather tall man of 
about sixty, with a roundish florid face, chubby features, 
short thin beard and moustache. What hair was left on his 
head was black, hardly touched with grey. The spectacles 
he wore had large round lenses, which added to the childlike 
placidity of his look. While putting a question or two about 
my illness he was surveying me mildly ; then he told me to 
strip. I had off my jacket and waistcoat, and was starting 
to the trousers when he asked — and I was aware of a change 
in his tone, 

” Whose is this ? ” 

I looked and saw that to pass the minute of waiting he had 
carelessly picked up a scrap of paper from the table. It was 
scribbled with a few words in pencil. 

” Whose is this ? ” he repeated. 

I told him, and his look changed as his tone had done. 
After another question or two he nodded to me to continue 
undressing, and when I stood mother-naked he examined me 
from head to foot with scrupulous care. While I dressed he 
talked about my illness, his words flowing on like a placid 
brook. His students, I have heard, used to say he suffered 
from verbal diarrhoea. 

" I suppose you were making yourself miserable, James, 
with the fear that you were in consumption and were spitting 
up your lungs ? Your lungs are as sound as my own, and all 
that’s wrong with you is bronchitis occasioned by exposure. 
That’s bad enough certainly if it becomes chronic, and your 
care must be to keep it from becoming so. Whenever you 
have a touch of cold and are threatened with this soft cough, 
keep your bed and don’t rise till the cough’s completely gone. 
I’ll prescribe something to relieve you at present, and you will 


134 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


keep the prescription and make use of it if the cough threatens 
you again. But there is this I must tell you. Care and 
medicines will be useless if you don’t do your part. You 
must stop brooding over your state, and must try to be cheer- 
ful. Keep outdoors whenever it is possible and take an 
interest in outdoor life, and in a little, if you have the chance 
of engaging in light work, you must put your heart into it.” 
Then he flowed on, touching on the reason of his interest in 
me ; but I have never repeated his words, and will not repeat 
them now. When he had risen and was giving his final 
directions for my treatment, he asked, 

” Are you properly attended to here ? ” 

By this I had gained confidence enough to give him the truth 
about Jean. He merely nodded as he glanced round the 
room. Ere he left I begged him with much shamefacedness 
to say nothing about the scrap of paper. 

The very next day I was removed once more. My new 
home was the West Lodge, occupied by the widow of the last 
head-gardener. I had often admired the neat little gate- 
house, with the golden azaleas at the south gable, the scarlet 
tropaeolum on the porch, and I now found that the interior 
was as sweet and attractive. How welcome, too, the kindly 
motherly ways of the old lady after the callousness of the 
slattern I had left ! 

I was not long installed when the admiral came to see that 
I was comfortable. What Sir William had told him I do not 
know ; certainly it made him regard me with new interest. 
He asked if I was fond of reading, and on finding that I knew 
something about birds he promised to send along some bird- 
books. Master Reggie brought them, and the boy and I 
were soon intimate. Reggie favoured his father in his looks, 
still more in his ways. The little world of Seton domains was 
made for him and his, though it was right that his subjects 
should be cared for. Such an outlook, especially in a boy of 
twelve, makes for cheerfulness. Reggie overflowed with life, 
and his pleasant companionship did as much as the professor’s 
drugs or the change of residence to restore my health. The 
cough left me, I was able to spend most of the day rambling 
through the w^oods, and ere many weeks the life at the Mailing 
with its privations and cruel sufferings appeared like a bad 
dream. But a chance word gave me a painful awakening. 

The factor, who never met me without passing a kindly 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


135 


word, looked in at the lodge one September evening. My 
old uncle had been inquiring about me. Was I not strong 
enough to come back to my work at the Mailing ? They 
needed all the hands they could get for the harvest. 

It was as if the pit had opened. I had been letting the 
sweet days go by without thought or care ; could it be that 
the old life of helpless anguish was to be mine once more ? 
Though I did not, indeed could not, speak, my terror must 
have showed in my face, for the smile with which the factor 
had repeated old Nicol's words changed to a look of pity. 

“ You don’t much fancy going back there ? ” he asked. 

I hung my head in silence ; if I had spoken I should have 
burst out crying. 

“ Still, James,” said Mr. Meiklejohn, ” you must do some- 
thing ; that is, if you feel yourself pretty strong now. We 
can’t expect to spend our life in idleness and amusement ; 
we have to work as well as play, if we don’t want to be a 
burden on other people. Besides, it’s good for ourselves. 
Folks are never happier than when they’re well employed.” 

He stopped as if expecting me to speak, and I managed 
to say, 

” I know, sir.” 

” Well, James, I’ve been thinking of something that might 
be more to your mind than the work you’ve left. You’re a 
pretty good scholar, considering the chances you’ve had, and 
I could give you a start in the office ; indeed, I could do with 
another lad nicely. How would that suit you ? ” 

Again my looks spoke for me, and the arrangement was at 
once settled. Two days later I had to accompany Mrs. 
Paterson to Craigkenneth and be measured for new clothes. 
On the Monday morning at ten I reported myself at the estate 
office. 

This consisted of two large rooms — the inner reserved for 
Mr. Meiklejohn — in the old building that had once been the 
mansion-house. The factor pronounced me a fair writer and 
counter. 

” You would be a great help if you knew some shorthand and 
typing,” he said, ” and we might get a chance of having you 
taught.” 

The chance must have been easily found, for soon I went in 
to Craigkenneth three afternoons every week and took lessons 
from a commercial tutor. The hope of being useful, the 


136 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


delight in exerting myself after the long season of illness and 
idleness, carried me forward with incredible speed. Take 
shorthand. It was Pitman’s system I had to learn. The 
teacher gave me one lesson and told me what text-books to 
get. I mastered the system in three days. Not that I could 
use it fluently ; but I made the theory my own and only 
needed practice to be a swift writer. But then, during those 
three days, and I should add nights, I lived shorthand ; 
every moment, every thought I could spare, was given to it. 
Mrs. Paterson read out from the papers at night, slowly to 
start with and faster as I grew expert. After three weeks’ 
practice I ventured to take down from Mr. Meiklejohn’s dic- 
tation, and if the characters were awful hieroglyphics I could 
at least decipher them myself. Once I could use the type- 
writer I was of value in the office. All the correspondence 
was left to me, and the assistant was free to help Meiklejohn 
in technical work. 

This assistant, Mr. Allardyce, was a young man of about 
twenty-one. He lodged in Craigkenneth and cycled or walked 
to Lowis every morning. Bob was the sort of lad best de- 
scribed in the words : “ He’s the better of having a father 

before him.” He was the son of a big sheep-farmer in the 
north and he ought to have kept to his father’s calling ; at 
any rate, he was not made for a factor. Careless and easy- 
going, he was clever also, and had a good-humoured gentle- 
manly way that gained him friends everywhere. I admired 
him more than if I had shared his gifts ; indeed, he became 
my hero when I heard him banter Meiklejohn, and even 
answer the admiral with airy unconcern. Naturally, Bob 
made fun of me, joked at my seriousness, my industry, my 
respect for Meiklejohn, my reverence for the admiral. When 
strangers called at the office inquiring for the factor, he would 
gravely point them to me. With all this he was kind ; how 
could he be other to one who admired him so ? Occasionally, 
in spite of my returning health, the evil days I had once known 
would give me a hint that I had not escaped them without a 
scar : sudden faintness or sickness would threaten me. When 
Bob noticed the symptoms — and he often detected them with 
surprising sharpness — he would call out, ” I’ll attend to that, 
squire. Away you and look for woodcock ; ” and if I hesi- 
tated, doubtful whether to leave without Mr. Meiklejohn’s 
knowledge, he would take me by the shoulders and run me out. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


X37 


CHAPTER XV 

M rs. SETON never felt so well as when at home, and 
for her sake the family waited in the country all 
that winter. So it came that I saw Miss Maymie 
often. It was known by this time that she was to 
marry the Marquis of Soar. One evening when I was at the 
factor’s house playing draughts, I overheard Mrs. Seton’s maid 
give particulars about the wedding. It was to be celebrated 
in June, and Miss Seton, who was engaged to a naval officer, 
would be married on the same day. The mother would have 
liked her older daughter to wait a little, but there was a reason 
for the double wedding. The prince was intimate with Lord 
Soar, and would attend at the ceremony. If Miss Seton were 
married along with her sister, she would share in the honour. 
That Miss Maymie and the marquis were lovers my own eyes 
had taught me. On one of his visits to Lowis I had surprised 
him in the woods strolling with Miss Maymie, his arm round 
her waist. A few months earlier the sight would have over- 
powered me. I was another lad now. My late illness — a 
crisis in my life — would have something to do with the change. 
There was a cause more powerful. I was no longer a lonely 
maltreated wretch with nothing but wild dreams to live on. 
I had friends, I had pleasant, absorbing work, I had books 
to read when work was over. To these I could give myself 
with single mind. The dear image that used to haunt my heart 
no longer interposed ; no more of those sweet talks that needed 
no spoken word ; that sure sign of love, the constant presence 
of the absent, was gone. A wondrous change ! Yet, strange 
to say, I scarcely thought of it at the time ; only later did I 
remark it, and only long after did I marvel at it. 

It was to Miss Maymie’s family, not to Miss Maymie herself, 
that I was now devoted. If she was still worshipped, it was 
mainly because she was a Seton. The house seemed at the 


138 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


top of fortune. The admiral had a large and growing in- 
come, his wife’s health was almost restored, his only son was 
a promising boy, his daughters were marr5dng well, one indeed 
brilliantly. It was, then, with surprise and even a sense of 
personal wrong that I learned there was still something needed 
to make his happiness perfect. He had looked in at the office 
one forenoon while I was working with Meiklejohn at eleva- 
tions for a new steading. The pair chatted without heeding 
me. Master Reginald would soon be home for the Easter 
vacation, and the factor remarked, 

'' He’ll be wear5dng for the day, poor laddie ; he’s always 
glad to be home.” 

The admiral rejoined at once and in quite a snappish tone. 

” I don’t want him to be too fond of it,” he said ; and, as 
if in answer to an inquiring glance, he explained, ” There’s 
nothing in the world would give me greater disappointment 
than to see Reggie disposed to settle down here as a plain 
country gentleman.” 

“ Indeed ? ” 

” Yes, Meiklejohn. I want him to go out into the world 
and do something to make our house secure.” 

” Well, sir,” said the factor slowly, “ I should think it was 
pretty secure as it stands.” 

” That’s quite a mistake, Meiklejohn. You imagine that 
because a family has a good property and bears an old name 
it’ll last for ever. Nothing of the sort. Look at the Forresters 
now. Even as late as my father’s time they made a figure.” 

I daresay, sir. And at one time, I suppose, they were the 
biggest lairds in the county, holding off the duke.” 

” That’s true. Their rent-roll would even be higher than the 
duke’s, for most of their property was good low-country land. 
Where are they now ? ” And the admiral answered his own 
question by flicking the ash of his cigar into the fireplace. 

” Ay,” said Mr. Meiklejohn with a shake of the head ; 
” and the old castle occupied by a distiller.” 

“ True. And, mind you, it wasn’t with extravagance or any 
fault of their own, so far as I can learn. Simply they went 
down, down, year by year ; one loss after another till all 
went.” 

” Ay, it’s sad to see an old house disappear like that.” 

‘'It is ; very sad. But look at this now, Meiklejohn. 
Take Lord Glenteith ; the damnedest scamp, when he was a 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


139 


youngster, that ever betted on a race-course. Went through 
two fortunes in half a dozen years, his own and his first wife's ; 
sold every acre he possessed. When she dies he marries 
again, marries the cotton heiress, settles down, buys one estate 
after another, till now he's a bigger man than any of his people 
were." 

" It's perfectly true, sir. He has bought back most of, his 
own land even." 

" He has. And the difference between him and the For- 
resters was merely this, Meiklejohn : he had a title. A man 
may be ruined, ay, beggared ; his title will get him a wife with 
a fortune any day, and set him up again." 

" So you think, sir, that a title's the thing to make a family 
safe ? " suggested Meiklejohn. 

" Undoubtedly ; a hereditary title. Blood doesn't count 
— at least by itself. A man of family has little advantage 
over another unless he has the title. Wealthy girls and all 
connected with them must see the title ere they part with 
their cash." 

Those American girls seem desperately fond of a title, 
an3rway." 

" All those new rich people are. And that's what I hold : 
to give a family a title, a hereditary title, is as good as pre- 
senting it with a million sterling." 

" You're perfectly right, sir, now I think of it. In fact, 
it's better. For the million could be spent, whereas the title 
is there for all time, and can bring a million into the family 
any day." 

" Any day ; " and the admiral gave his hand a wave. In 
a little he resumed, "It's with that view I want Reggie to go 
into the diplomatic service. That seems the likeliest line to 
reach a title on. The navy 's a lottery ; the army 's no better." 

" I was hoping to see him member for the county before 
I die," said the factor with a smile. 

" Quite useless, Meiklejohn. Our side has no chance, here 
at any rate ; those damned Radicals sweep the country. 
The south isn't so bad ; but I haven't much interest there. 
No ; the diplomatic line is the only likely one, and with 
average luck Reggie should reach something. But if he once 
gets attached to country life, he's lost. I know how the 
damned thing gets round one. You want to see your oats 
grow and your stock fatten and new steadings go up, and you 


140 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


feel things can't go on without you. No, no ; Reggie mustn’t 
get on that tack. Better he should never set foot on Lowis 
more.” 

There was silence for a minute or two. Then the admiral 
remarked, 

” Of course, if Reggie is to be away so much, it would mean 
that he’d have all the more need of faithful watchers to look 
after his interests here.” The factor made no response, and 
the admiral added, ” And you and I, Meiklejohn, can’t be 
at the wheel for ever.” 

” There’s as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it ; ” 
and Meiklejohn gave a laugh. 

” I sometimes doubt that, Meiklejohn. However, we’ll 
do what we can now and hope for the best after.” 

Without more talk the admiral wished us both good-day 
and moved out of the room slowly and with bent head. I 
felt for him heartily. It was a shame he should want any- 
thing that might increase his own or his family’s welfare. 
Had I been king, I should have ennobled him on the spot. 

If I could not give him this gratification, I tried to further 
his interests wherever I had the power. Here is an instance. 
The Setons had gone to town in May. A month later the 
admiral took a run home on business, meaning to stay only 
three days. The second day of the visit Meiklejohn and I 
were out measuring part of a field on the Home Farm that 
was in potatoes. The crop had been bought green-sale by a 
Craigkenneth dealer, who would have measurers sent out from 
a surveyor’s office. It was Meiklejohn’s practice, however, to 
go over the ground himself. The admiral was out with us 
holding the staffs, and on the way back, as he and the factor 
were talking of different estate matters, he remarked, 

” I was looking at the calves, Meiklejohn ; they don’t 
appear to be thriving.” 

The admiral kept a small pedigree herd of Highland cattle, 
which usually grazed in the park. Two of the cows had 
lately calved, and as they might have been dangerous they 
were kept with their calves in a small field a little to the north. 

Meiklejohn owned he had not been looking them regularly. 
What did the cattleman say ? 

” Duncan agrees that they’re not coming on fast. He 
blames the dry season. Grass is scarce and the cows are 
short of milk.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


141 

He’s maybe right ; ” and the factor cited a case he had 
once known. 

A few days later I was at Cringletree, an upland farm where 
a new steading was building. Late in the afternoon, as I 
was returning through the woods, I noticed a little girl coming 
along the footpath. It was Colina Macdiarmid, the cattle- 
man’s youngest child. The instant she spied me she slipped 
aside, and she kept the bushes between us till I was by. 
My glance had shown me that she was carrying two small 
enamelled pails. I daresay I should have had no suspicion 
but for the attempt to hide. Little Colina knew me and had 
nothing to fear. The admiral’s words came to mind, and 
question after question flashed up. What was the child 
carrying ? Milk ; that was certain. Where to ? Between 
us and Cringletree was a double cottage where some of the 
tradesmen lodged who were engaged on the new farm-build- 
ings. Where was the milk coming from ? I guessed at once, 
and it took me only two days to make sure. On the afternoon 
when I reached the ofiice with my guess confirmed, the factor 
was out, but bursting with the secret I had to discharge it on 
his assistant. 

“ I say. Bob,” I began ere I was well seated, and there 
was a sly chuckle of delight in my voice, ” I know why the 
Highland calves are not coming on.” 

Bob had been checking some accounts. He looked up 
unconcernedly. 

” Who says they’re not coming on ? ” 

” Oh, of course you didn’t hear the admiral. He was com- 
plaining to Mr. Meiklejohn about them.” 

” Yes ? ” 

” And I’ve found out the reason. Guess what it is.” 

” Ringworm or some blasted ailment.” 

” You’re all wrong. It’s because they’re not getting milk.” 

” That’s their own fault. They have the cows there for 
the sucking.” 

” Yes ; but somebody else sucks the cows. Duncan milks 
them and sells the milk.” 

Bob did not speak ; he merely rubbed his chin with his 
left hand, a trick he had when puzzled. Ere he found words 
I rushed into the tale. How I became suspicious, the way I 
took to satisfy myself, all was told with glee. Then I disposed 
myself to enjoy the effect of the story. 


142 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


My companion had stopped rubbing his chin ; he looked at 
me with puckered brows. 

“ Damn it ! What made you come and tell me ? ” 

The question, still more the way it was asked, so surprised 
me that in my turn I was silent for a little. 

“ Well," I said at length, " I thought Td just tell you when 
Mr. Meiklejohn wasn’t here." 

" I’m not Mr. Meiklejohn, James, and I don’t recollect 
ever asking you to come to me first with such stories. Are 
you aware, my virtuous young gentleman," he went on, 
looking fixedly into my staring eyes ; " are you at all aware 
of what will happen when this becomes known ? " 

" Duncan ’ll get the road." 

" Precisely ; he’ll get the road. Oh, infernal ! " And he 
groaned as if I had kicked him on a sore place. 

Though I could not comprehend his emotion, I saw that 
the discovery had affected him very differently from me. 

" Do you think I oughtn’t to tell Mr. Meiklejohn ? ’’ I asked, 
quite bent on telling, however ; the story was too good to 
keep. 

Bob rubbed his chin a while. 

" Well, sir," he answered at last, " since you’ve been good 
enough to tell me, it will hardly do not to tell Mr. Meiklejohn. 
But remember this in future : when you’ve anything of the 
sort on your mind, you’ll go to Mr. Meiklejohn direct and not 
come to me. Is that plain enough ? " he demanded, with a 
harshness in his voice and eyes that made me quail. 

I did not answer. When my fear passed I grew sulky, and 
I made no response to the " Ta-ta," with which Bob took his 
leave as five o’clock struck. 

I locked up and went straight to Parkend. The factor 
was not back yet. The secret would not keep for a night. 
I called again in the evening and found Meiklejohn at home. 
He took in the story with eyes and ears, and praised me for 
my smartness. 

At the back of three the next afternoon he came into our 
room. 

" Take your cap, James ; I want you to come out with me 
for a bit. Some of us ’ll be back before five, Robert." 

Bob said nothing ; he did not even glance at us. It was 
not the first time the factor and I had strolled together. 
Meiklejohn was childless, and he had taken a fatherly liking 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


143 


for me, while I in turn was growing fond of the homely little 
man. The Lowis factor had not the look of one who wielded 
influence. He was short, spare, and wiry, quiet and plain 
both in speech and manner. His face was much wrinkled, 
especially round the eyes, and the glasses he wore, with his 
characteristic headgear — a small, narrow-brimmed hat, grey 
tweed for week-days, black felt on Sunday — aided in giving 
him an appearance that his neighbours described as “ ancient.’" 
As we walked that afternoon towards Lowis House and then 
through the woods above, he showed no excitement, and he 
kept the talk off the business that had brought us that way. 
What books was I reading ? he asked. 

I was busy with an interesting one, a small collection of 
poems about birds. A great poet’s verses on the Cuckoo had 
charmed me and I repeated some to my friend, 

“ Very fine,” was his comment. ” And is this other one 
in your book ? ” and he quoted the opening lines of that still 
better-known ode whose authorship has been so hotly dis- 
puted. 

I told him it was. He started and repeated it through 
without a break. 

” Do you know how long it is since I saw that, James ? 
I haven’t read it, to my knowledge, since I was a laddie at the 
school, far younger than you are now. Ay, it’s a good fifty 
years since. The piece was in our reading-book.” 

” What a rare memory you have, Mr. Meiklejohn ! ” I 
could not help saying. 

” I used to have. Anything I learned I held like a vice. 
My memory weakened as I grew older, at least for some things. 
If I had learned that poetry after I was man-grown, I couldn’t 
have repeated a line of it now. But for facts my memory 
remained as good as ever, and it’s not bad yet. Give me any 
useful knowledge, any useful information, and I won’t let it 
go readily.” 

As we moved on through the golden glades he kept to the 
same talk. 

” After all, that’s the main thing, James, at least for work 
like ours — to have useful knowledge. That’s what’ll make 
you a capable factor, James.” 

“ It’ll be a long time before I’m fit to be a factor,” I re- 
marked with a laugh. 

” You’ll come on. Keep your eyes and ears open for all 


144 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


kinds of practical knowledge. You have a capital founda- 
tion in having been trained to farm- work. And in some things 
you have advantages I never possessed. You’ve time enough 
to make yourself perfect at composition and spelling and so 
on. That has always been a weak point with me : I’m shaky 
when it comes to putting a letter together. Now, there’s 
nothing to hinder you from mastering the two things, both 
the facts and the proper way of setting them out.” 

I said nothing, and my friend continued : 

” It’s true what the admiral said yon day, that the old 
folks can’t last for ever. And if Master Reginald is to live 
mostly abroad when he comes to be laird, it’ll need a capable 
man to look after the estate. And a trustworthy man, James. 
It’s an awful thing not to be trustworthy. Just look at the 
case that we’re here about to-day : a man with a comfortable 
place robbing his master who has every confidence in him ! 
And what’s the upshot ? Disgrace and ruin. If ever you’re 
in a position of trust, James, keep to sterling honesty, no 
matter how you may be tempted. For mind this, James : 
the admiral deserves well at your hands ; he has been very 
good to you.” 

” I know that,” I assented fervently. 

” So if ever you serve him or his family in a more respon- 
sible post, attend to their interests as you would to your own.” 

By this we were a quarter of a mile above Lowis House and 
close to a curious range of whinstone rocks, half-moon in 
shape and clad to the crest with greenwood trees and shrubs. 
Come when you would in spring or summer, you found the 
place ablow. The sloe was the earliest to break. It wore its 
crown of snow while most of its neighbours were as yet without 
a leaf. The bird-cherry came next, its large milky blooms 
making a still braver display. Rowan and May-blsosom 
followed ; the last, in spite of its name, hid its wreaths till 
June was in. That afternoon, as we struggled through the 
hazel bushes, I stopped many a time to admire the white and 
damask roses and the creamy elder-blooms. 

Near the summit of the rocks the factor halted and, taking 
a field-glass from his pocket, surveyed the country below. 

It was worth climbing to the spot for the view alone. The 
green wood we had lately traversed sloped like a great smooth 
bank till it was broken by the towers of Lowis House. Then 
began the rich tilled country, speckled with hamlets or single 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


145 

dwellings and falling, as if in terraces, to the yet richer carse 
that spread, a broad flat plain, to the sluggish Fertha. Across 
the river was a narrower belt of carse, a shorter reach of up- 
land, and then the eye was led up to the Ogle Hills, their 
sides, all but some rocky steeps, a pastoral green till they 
merged in the blue of heaven. If my glance ranged so far, 
my friend’s was kept to this side of the river> the domain 
where lay his interests and his duties. SOj at least, I gathered 
from the remark that followed the survey, 

“ It’s a fine compact estate — Lowis. That’s the only thing 
that spoils it ; ” and he gave a nod towards the o&nsive 
object. 

" Do you mean the right-of-way past the Den ? ” I asked, 
referring to a path I knew the admiral would fain have closed. 

“ Tuts ! ” said Meiklejohn impatiently. ‘‘ What harm 
does that do ? It’s a mere whim of the admiral’s. No, 
James. I mean that place of Ralston’s. It lies in the middle 
of Lowis like a blot on a page. If the admiral could get 
Cambuslochan, he would have as tight and trim an estate 
as there is in the country. It’s as square as a blanket.” 

The words were not pleasant to hear and I made no rejoinder. 
It was well known that the admiral coveted the little property 
on the Stracht and would have bought it at any figure. But 
far be the day, I hoped, when Mr. Ralston and his bride 
would leave their home ! They had been as good to me as 
the Setons and were as dear. 

” Talking about facts, James,” my companion resumed after 
a short silence, ” one must make sure, of course, that they 
are facts and not take everything on hearsay. Now, there’s 
your old friends down yonder ; ” and as he took the glass 
from his eyes he nodded in the direction of the Mailing. I 
see they’re working in a park of cabbages ; I suppose they’re 
filling up the blanks with swedes. Well, the old man would 
tell you, I have no doubt, and so would every farmer I’ve 
encountered, that swedes will transplant and yellow turnips 
won’t.” 

” Yes, that’s what old Ni— , I mean Mr. Gow, believes. ’ 
Just so ; ” and the factor again put up the glps. ” Now, 
that’s a very good instance, James, of how a thing comes to 
be taken on mere hearsay. It’s perfectly true that the thin- 
nings of yellows ” 

What the thinnings might or might not be capable of I was 

t 


146 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


not to learn at the time ; for my friend, who in his roving 
survey had never kept his eye for long off one spot, an open 
space to the west of the mansion-house, changed his tone to 
an excited whisper : “ There he comes ! " 

After keeping the glass fixed on the spot for some minutes 
he thrust it into my hand. 

“Watch every movement, James, and tell me. My eyes 
are strained and are watering too much.” 

I had already observed the two cows with their calves 
move through the field towards the wood. Aided by the glass, 
I now distinguished the kilted Duncan who had crossed the 
fence, had set a pail on the grass and was opening a small bag. 

“ He’s giving the cows something to eat,” I reported. 

“ Cake,” said the factor as confidently as though he had 
been at Duncan’s elbow. “ That’s why the beasts come so 
readily.” 

“ He’s giving some to the calves as well,” I continued, 
“ Will that be good for them ? ” 

“ Enough to kill them,” said my friend in helpless 
rage. 

“He’s kneeling down beside the red cow,” I went on ; 
“ he’s starting to milk her.” 

Meiklejohn snatched the glass and glanced through it for 
a moment. 

“It’s time I was down having a hand in the ploy,” he said 
grimly. “ The damned Hielan’ thief ! ” and without waiting 
for my company he ran down the rocky bank. 

I hurried after him, though we did not change a word till 
we reached the spot where our ways parted. 

“ Wait in the office, James, till I come back,” was all the 
little man could say. Ere I answered, he was speeding down 
the woods like a trained racer. 

Had folk been watching me as I strolled back to the office, 
they would have concluded I had parted with my wits. I 
was picturing the encounter between the irate factor and his 
delinquent cattleman. How Duncan would look when he 
found himself trapped ! How stupefied. The scene was so 
comic that every little while I had to vent my merriment in 
a roar. At the office I would fain have made Bob a partner 
in my glee, but that young gentleman had an aloofness in his 
manner that kept me silent, though I could not repress odd 
sniffs and chortles when fancy was busy. Bob had left ere 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


147 

the factor, his face still pink and perspiring, reached the 
office. 

“ Did you catch him ? ” was my eager question. 

He assured me with a meaning glance and shake of the 
head. 

" I caught him as clean as a trout. He never heard a move- 
ment till I was crossing the fence. Then he darts his head 
round and sees me within five yards of him. Man ! if you 
had seen his face ! 

I roared, and my outbursts interrupted every sentence as 
the factor went on : 

“ He springs up and looks at me as if I were a ghost. ‘ You’re 
busy, Duncan,’ I said. Not a word. ‘ It’s little wonder the 
calves are not thriving.’ He had turned his head away by 
this and he stands a bit without speaking ; then he found his 
tongue and began to plead with me not to inform. I would 
never have another cause of complaint and so forth. He 
tried to come over me with talk about his wife and young 
children : what were they to do ? However, I shut his 
mouth. I told him the children would be better away from 
here : they would soon be as big thieves as himself.” 

” Did he know what you meant ? ” 

” He gave me a puzzled kind of look till I said, ‘ Ay, 
Duncan, we know who carries the milk to the Cringle cottages. 
Man, ye think yourself cunning, and there’s not a step ye 
take but we have our eye on ye. Now,’ I said, ‘ you’re dis- 
missed from this moment. Your wife will be told in a day 
or two what’s to be done with herself and the bairns. As for 
you, it’s more than likely that the next word you get will 
be from the police.’ He must have had enough by this, for 
he stooped down to take the can of milk and make off ; but 
I said, ‘ No, no, Duncan ; it's the calves’ turn now,’ and sure 
enough the poor beasties were at the pail already, and I 
was like to be knocked over, trying to give them a drink in 
turns.” 

For some time I could do nothing but laugh. 

” Look here, Mr. Meiklejohn,” I said when I was able to 
speak, “ how did he manage to keep the calves from sucking ? 
That’s been puzzling me.” 

” It puzzled me too, though I have my suspicions. I 
wasn’t near enough the cows to examine them ; in fact, to 
tell you the honest truth, I wasn’t anxious to be too near ; 


148 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


but I'm almost positive that their teats were discoloured ; 
so that the rascal must have put wormwood or some bitter 
concoction on them to keep the calves from sucking. The 
damned Hielan' devil ! That I should say so ! " 

The vigorous language, so unusual with my friend, wit- 
nessed to his warmth of feeling. The whole story, with his 
manner of telling it, was to me a rare comedy. 

'‘I'd have liked to see his face. Ho ! ho 1 ho ! " and I 
roared till the factor, who had been disposed to keep a grim 
face, was infected and grew as hilarious as myself. 

Fraser, the vet., was 'phoned for and came over the same 
evening. He confirmed the factor's surmise about the worm- 
wood. Duncan vanished, and did not appear even when his 
wife and children flitted from their snug cottage at the wood- 
side. This happened within the week ; for, though the 
admiral did not prosecute, he sent stern orders that the whole 
family should be cleared off the estate without a day's delay. 

Duncan fell ; I rose. Next pay-day Meiklejohn handed 
me six shillings instead of five, and informed me that this 
was to be my weekly pay in future. Board and lodging cost 
me nothing, for the admiral had arranged about these at the 
first with my old landlady. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


149 


CHAPTER XVI 

A S I grew better versed in estate management, I 
found there were hidden and winding ways for 
reaching one's end. The mention of my rise of 
pay suggests one. When I was at Meiklejohn's in 
the evenings playing draughts, I often met Mrs. Seton’s maid, 
who had been long with the family and was understood to 
get much of her mistress’s mind. The factor and his wife 
kept very close to her, had her often over to supper, and were 
tr3dng or professed to be trying to find a mate for her among 
the Lowis farmers. It was an evening some weeks before 
Duncan’s disgrace. The four of us were in the Parkend 
parlour, Meiklejohn and I at the board, the ladies gossiping. 
I overheard the factor’s wife complain that her husband had 
been often from home lately owing to feuing at Claygate. 
This was a Clydesdale property that had come to the admiral’s 
father by marriage. Of little agricultural value, it was being 
worked for fire-clay, and the output was increasing every year. 

“ They’re putting up over a hundred new houses for the 
workers,” I heard Mrs. Meiklejohn remark. 

'‘Yes, houses for a hundred and forty families,” said Miss 
Paton, who seemed to know more about estate affairs than 
even her friend. ” A little town in itself. That Claygate 
place is a fair gold-mine to the admiral.” 

” I suppose it must be,” said the other, and she waited as 
if to let her friend continue. 

The factor’s wife was a little plump, black-eyed lady, who 
spoke with an engaging lisp. 

” Yes,” Miss Paton went on ; ” with one thing and another 
— of course, this is between ourselves — it’s never worth less 
than twelve thousand a year. Yes, and it’ll get better every 
year.” 

” Tu-tu-tu,” lisped the little woman, as if much impressed ; 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


150 

“ I could do with it for a year. But, Miss Paton, just think of 
the extra work it gives Mr. Meiklejohn. There’s never been 
a week for months back but he's been away one day at least, 
and sometimes he has stayed overnight to save him from going 
back the next day.” 

” Do you hear that, Mr. Meiklejohn ? ” asked the lady’s- 
maid with a laugh. She was a loud-voiced buxom hussy of 
over forty and liked a broad joke. Your goodwife doesn’t 
like to be so much alone at night.” 

Usually when Meiklejohn was at his favourite game he needed 
some shaking-up ere he could answer an outside remark. 
This time his reply came with surprising readiness. 

” Ay, ay. Miss Paton ; but business must be attended to. 
Business before pleasure, you know.” 

” It is too bad, though,” the lady’s-maid admitted. Really 
there must be plenty to do at Lowis without having to run 
away there every week.” 

” Yes ; and the worst of it is there’s nothing for the extra 
work,” — and the factor’s wife gave a little laugh, — ” although 
the place must be bringing in ever so much more.” 

I was listening now for every syllable, and if the factor was 
not listening as well, he was certainly taking a long time for 
very easy moves. 

“ Really ! ” exclaimed Miss Paton. Then, as if her friend’s 
hint had at last been caught, she added reflectively, ” He ought 
to have something, and something substantial. I daresay 
it’s just from thoughtlessness that it’s been neglected.” 

” Perhaps this wouldn’t be the best time to mention it ? ” 
the other suggested. ” With the weddings coming on they’ll 
be having heavy expense.” 

” Expense is nothing to them,” Miss Paton assured her. 
“ And I don’t know but this might be the very best time. 
They’re all in grand spirits just now.” 

Whether the factor’s extra work was duly acknowledged I 
was never told. I presume it was, for I heard no more com- 
plaints made to Miss Paton about the Clay gate journeys. 
This would be the process. Meiklejohn would first have 
spoken to his wife, if that worthy little lady needed any hint. 
She spoke to the maid, the maid would speak to her mistress, 
the mistress to her husband. Mrs. Seton was a plain, quiet 
lady and seemed to leave estate affairs to her energetic 
husband and his officials ; but I was beginning to learn that 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


151 

it was the quietest people who sometimes had the last 
word. 

The double wedding was celebrated in London early in 
July. There were great rejoicings on the Lowis estate, and 
Bob and I had a rare time preparing bonfires and arranging 
free feasts for old and young. Strange, strange past belief 
it seems now that through it all I scarcely once thought of 
Miss Maymie as having been anything to me. Since that 
winter at the Mailing two years had not passed ; but for her 
I could not have lived through those dark days, yet here was 
I, leader in the merrymaking that celebrated her union with 
another. When at moments I did recall her as my worshipped 
queen, the memory had no sadness ; rather I took pride in 
that I had been joined, though only in the realm of dreams, 
with one so high. 

The echoes of the wedding rejoicings were still in the air 
when a different ceremony, in which I also had an interest, 
called for observance. Old Phemie died after a short illness. 
Scandal declared she had over-eaten herself at the tenants* 
dinner. The factor assumed that I should be going to the 
funeral, and when I objected that there had been no kindness 
between us, he insisted. 

"Blood’s thicker than water. You’re about as near a 
connection as there's left and, though the old body ’ll likely 
have left everything to her brother, that may be all the better 
for you in the long run. I’d advise you to draw closer to him. 
You must by no means miss the funeral. The old man ’ll 
like to see you there, for folk appreciate a little attention 
as they get up in years and feel their lo^jeliness. Ay, you 
must cultivate him more, and any time you’re speaking to 
him call him ‘ Uncle ’ just in a natural sort of way. I can 
tell you this on sure authority : he’s worth keeping in with, 
and I’d rather a thousand times you should be the better of 
him than that black scoundrel Mackinlay.” 

So to the funeral I went, stood in the Mailing parlour 
which I had never entered before, returned Big Pate’s scowl 
and took a glass of port from Florrie’s tray without a word 
of thanks. At Lucas kirkyard, when the black coffin was to 
be lowered into the clay trench, the factor gently pushed me 
forward and put a cord in my hands. We spoke for a minute 
with old Nicol. He thanked me for coming. 

Phemie, we learned afterwards left no will. She had 


152 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

banked her money in her own and her brother’s names to 
make sure, I suppose, that the painfully gathered hoard 
should never pay death-dues. 

“ It’s maybe waiting for you yet,” the factor said. ” I think 
you should act on my advice and keep in with your old uncle.” 

Legacy-hunting, surely, can have little charm for most 
lads of seventeen ; it had none for me. I should not have 
given a straw for old Nicol’s fortune though it had been 
counted in millions, not thousands. It was Meiklejohn who 
was set on making me the heir, and I daresay his main 
motive was to keep Pate out. The very week after the funeral 
I had to accompany him to the Mailing. The old farmer 
welcomed us with evident pleasure, brought out his bottle 
for the factor, made Florrie fetch port for me. When the 
two men were yoked to the talk, I slipped out to explore the 
old place. If there is no greater pain than to recall happy 
times in misery, it heightens present joys to revisit scenes 
of suffering past. I glanced into the bothy where I had often 
borne a fiend’s cruelty ; the walls were still hung with harness, 
on the bed I used to share the second ploughman, who had 
come in Bob’s place two months before, lay smoking. In 
the byre-gang I encountered my old tyrant. I looked at 
him with set eyes and he could only return a sidelong glance. 
There was the barn-loft where I had lodged on many a strange 
night, with Ranger and sometimes the Wanderer for company. 
Ranger, looking no older than in those days, attended me on 
my round ; he had never been in danger of forgetting me, 
for I petted him whenever we met. Florrie had given us a 
smiling welcome when Meiklejohn and I arrived, and now 
as I passed through the kitchen to the parlour she smiled 
again and said it was a nice night. The old hate surged to 
my brain so wildly that little would have made me clutch 
her by the throat and choke out her life. At parting old 
Nicol invited the factor to come again soon : “I’m lonely, 
man ; I’ve naebody noo ; ” and Meiklejohn promised to call 
when he could and bring me with him, adding, “You can’t 
say you’ve nobody so long as you’ve a promising laddie like 
this sib to you.” 

My friend was satisfied with the visit. I must repeat it, 
he urged, till my old uncle could not do without me. Meikle- 
john was a shrewd man ; but what chance has shrewdness 
with Fate ? 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


153 

One evening when I had come home from the office and 
was sitting down to tea, Mrs. Paterson asked, 

“ You’ll have heard the news, James ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” 

About the Mailing ? No ? You haven’t heard that Pate 
Mackinlay’s wife has turned up ? ” 

I was silent a while. It took me an effort to recollect that 
Big Pate had a wife. 

“ Is that true ? ” I asked at last. 

“ There’s no question of it, James. Jean Dawson told me 
first. I don’t take everything Jean says for gospel ; but 
Hendry went past not half an hour since, and he told me he 
had come round by the Mailing and saw the woman in the 
garden.” 

“ Has she been in the asylum all this time ? They used to 
say she was there.” 

” According to Jean there’s a lot of stories going about 
and it’s not for me to repeat them. But there she is now, 
anyway.” 

My old landlady then gave me the story as it had been told 
to her. The woman had landed two nights before, to Pate’s 
consternation. She had interviewed old Nicol and must have 
got leave to stay overnight. All next day she was helping 
about the house, and there she was still. 

Meiklejohn had the news next morning, though not so 
circumstantially. Ere the office closed he asked. 

You were coming along to-night, James ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

” You’ll come, then, just as we arranged. Only, instead 
of having a game we’ll take a stroll along and pay our respects 
to your old uncle. He asked us, you mind. And the fact is, 
I want to have a look at things for myself.” 

My uncle’s tall, lean figure was visible in the garden as we 
neared the house. The old man was not looking our way, 
and when he did recognise us he seemed uncomfortable. 
Instead of asking us in, he came out to the loan and tried to 
draw us away. Shrill voices were crossing each other like 
keen sword-blades inside the house. Meiklejohn would not 
leave the spot, and he made talk about the oats that were 
standing stooked in the field beside us. When the noise 
hushed within-doors, old Nicol, asking us to wait a minute, 
hurried into the house, and soon he reappeared at the door 


154 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


and waved us in. We were not well seated when he brought 
out the liquor. 

“ Flor — ” he was calling, but checked himself with ‘'I’ll 
fetch the water,” and he made for the door. Someone met 
him in the trance, for we heard a voice : “I brought the jug ; 
I thought you might need it, uncle. Oh ! I’ll take it in since 
I’m here. Don’t you trouble, uncle.” The next moment 
a women appeared, with old Nicol close behind. She greeted 
us with a smile and nod, and remarked, as she set the water 
down, 

” There’s no use in having a dog and barking yourself. 
But my uncle here will be doing. I tell him he should take 
a rest when folks are willing to do for him.” 

” You’re perfectly right,” said the factor heartily. ” If our 
friend had been in hands like yours constantly, he’d have 
been as fresh as any young fellow to-day. You shouldn’t 
have left him to himself so long.” 

” It’s true enough ; but, of course, our poor auntie was here 
till lately.” 

” So she was,” assented my friend. ” Still, both she and 
Mr. Gow here would have been the better of a body like you 
about them.” 

While the pair talked, I was tr3dng to read the woman. 
She was tall and stout, fair-haired, with a full, though oval, 
face and good features, the nose especially being large and 
shapely. Her eyes were a very bright grey. Altogether, a 
striking, even a remarkable figure. Her age I could not guess ; 
this only I saw : she was much older than she tried to look. 

” You’ll be taking him in charge now ? ” the factor suggested. 

” I’ll do my endeavour, and if he’s none the better of the 
change it’ll no be my fault.” 

‘‘I’m sure of that. You’ll be a help both inside the house 
and out. You’re quite at home with farm- work, I suppose ? ” 

My friend was bent on making the woman talk, and she was 
quite ready to gratify him. She would feel, like most of her 
sex, that she need not shrink from a wordy passage with any 
man. But old Nicol broke in : 

‘‘ Help yourselves, friends. Fill up your glass. That’s 
a’ we need, Bab ; ” and when the woman was about to speak he 
added sharply, ‘‘ We’ll manage oorsels noo,” and gave an 
impatient movement with his hand which made her withdraw. 

” Ay, ay,” remarked the factor, when we had the parlour 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


155 


to ourselves, ** so there's nothing but changes, Nicol. As one 
rises, another sits doon." 

“ Nothing but changes ; ” and the old man shook his head 
as he looked into his tumbler. 

“ And you think you’ll be more comfortable with a con- 
nection of your own to manage the house ? ” Meiklejohn 
pursued. 

“ It’s a’ to try, it’s a’ to try,” said the farmer, and his dry 
tone kept my friend from questioning him further at the time. 

The talk ran on crops and cattle till the whisky made a 
second round. Meiklejohn may have judged that his host 
would now prove more communicative. 

You’re not to forget this laddie o’ yours, Nicol,” he said, 
” though you’re getting new friends. He promises to be a 
credit to you. I can answer for him myself, for he’s with me 
constantly.” 

” I’m glad to hear o’t, real glad to hear o’t. Attend to 
your work, Jamie, and if ye dae weel for yersel’ ye’ll dae weel 
for me.” 

” Then you’re keeping him in mind, Nicol ? ” asked my 
friend, whose own tongue must have been loosened by the 
liquor. 

” I’m no forgettin’ Jamie,” the old man assured him. 
” And now aboot thae cross-heifers, Meiklejohn ; ” and he 
reverted to the last topic, nor could the factor bring him 
back to family affairs. 

” And what do you think of your new relation, my good 
boy ? ” the factor inquired as we walked towards Parkend 
under the full harvest moon. My friend’s speech was slower 
and his manner more affectionate than usual, and he leant 
pretty heavily on my arm. 

” She looks a woman that has something in her,” I replied. 

” Something in her, James ! Quite right, my boy. You’ll 
do, once you’ve a little more experience. Something in her. 
Yes ; I should say, in fact, she’s an extra smart woman. And 
how do you think she has been employed of late, James ? ” 

“ I — I never thought of that. She seemed too fat to have 
been working much.” 

” Too fat to have been working much ! Haw, haw, haw ! 
Good again, James. You just need the experience to be a 
clever chap. Yes, she’s too fat, and her hands are too white 
and soft, And what might be her weakness, James ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


156 


Her weakness ? ” 

Yes, my boy ; her little failing, James, her besetting sin, 
so to speak ? ” 

“ I — I couldn’t say. I never thought of that either. 
People used to say she was in an asylum — was off her head.” 

“ James my boy, Fm older than you, could be your father 
and more, and have seen all sorts of folks, and 111 tell you my 
belief. My belief is, James,” the little man went on, speaking 
slowly and solemnly, “ that she’s a drunkard. You say she 
was off her head, in an asylum, so on. All right ; I don’t say 
no. What I do say is, if she was off her head it was with 
drinking. You mark me, James ? ” 

“ Yes, Mr. Meiklejohn. But I was going to ask, did you 
hear the row before we went into the house ? The two women 
quarrelling, no doubt.” 

” No doubt of it, James ; a fair tug-of-war between the two 
jades. And you mark my words, James : the new one is the 
winner.” 

” That other one, the maid, is a vicious, determined 
character,” I said. 

“ All right, James ; not saying a word against it. What 
I say is, she’s no match for Mrs. Mac — Mackinlay. Haw, haw, 
haw ! That is, mind you, if Mrs. Mackinlay keeps straight 
and doesn’t go off this way or that way ; ” and, without mean- 
ing it, my old friend gave a tolerable illustration of the lady’s 
possible movements. ” But I’m going to tell you something, 
James : I don’t envy old Nicol in the meantime. No, James. 
I don’t envy your old uncle ; I don’t. And what’s more, 
James, I don’t envy Mr. Mac — Mackinlay. Haw, haw, haw ! ” 

After seeing my old friend safely housed, I wandered home, 
taking a short cut through one of the Mains fields. Fortune- 
hunting was not in my thoughts. As I glanced at the half- 
moon gleaming like silver in the blue heavens, as I listened to 
the fresh night-breeze rustling the stooks, I felt that youth 
and health and hope were mine, and that I was already rich. 

The war between the two women was short. Not three 
weeks after our visit I was at Cambuslochan one evening with 
a drawing I had made for Mr. Ralston. That gentleman had 
an inventive knack, and sometimes asked me to put his ideas 
in a sketch. He was busy just now with what he called a 
” load-adjuster,” a contrivance for so arranging the contents 
of a cart that whether the horse was going up- or down-hill 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 157 

it would find the load as evenly distributed as when on the 
level. 

" By-the-by, James,” he remarked, ” that maid of your 
uncle’s is leaving — Florrie.” 

I could scarcely credit it. 

” It’s true enough,” my friend assured me. ” Sandy ” — 
this was Mr. Ralston’s ploughman — ” told me to-day that she 
had been at him inquiring about a place near Blane. Sandy 
belongs to that quarter. She had been speaking about 
Mackinlay ; perhaps Sandy would be chaffing her ; anyhow, 
she let out in her spite that Mackinlay was deserting her 
and siding with his wife. It seems the wife has made him 
thoroughly frightened that you’ll be the heir unless they get 
the old man into their hands. I’d be glad, James, if their 
fears came true, though, mind you, they won’t stick at any- 
thing to keep you out.” 

I did not repeat the news to Meiklejohn. It was not long, 
indeed, till the whole neighbourhood knew. Florrie left two 
months before Martinmas, and Pate’s wife hired a young girl 
to help in the dairy-work. 

” She’s an able jade,” Meiklejohn acknowledged with a 
certain admiration. ” However, she’s not to have things her 
own way altogether. I’ll see that the old man doesn’t forget 
you.” 


158 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XVil 

T O inexperienced youth the wildest ventures seem 
easy. Often enough its self-confidence is shamed ; 
at odd times it is triumphantly justified. I was 
at the age, and the chance did not fail to come. 
In my second summer at the office Meiklejohn was asked 
to go through to the neighbourhood of Salisbury, where Mrs. 
Seton’s people had a property, and give advice on the valuation 
of some stock. The factor took his wife and sister-in-law with 
him, and suggested that I might have my holiday in their 
company. Except the two days that Meiklejohn and I had 
to give to our business at Cray Park, our time — a fortnight 
altogether — ^was spent in London. My friends then went 
on to Germany to visit a niece, and I came north alone. The 
train I travelled by was a fast one, and I was surprised when 
it stopped at a little roadside station just over the Border. 
Looking out I saw that the engine was detached as if for 
shunting. 

Short of water, or what ? I asked the conductor, who 
had left his van and was strolling along the platform. 

“ No, no, sir. We’re taking on the milk-trucks,” and he 
nodded towards a siding where three waggons laden with 
milk-cans were standing. 

Where does the milk go to ? ” I asked carelessly. 

” Dundee.” 

” Dundee ! ” I exclaimed. “You don’t mean to say the 
milk travels a hundred miles ! ” 

“ A hundred and fifty-three,” said the guard, and at the 
sight of my dumb wonder he explained. “ It comes from 
Sir Irving Beattie’s estates hereabout. His farmers all bring 
it in to the station here and it's sent away as one lot. I sup- 
pose Sir Irving found that Dundee was likely to be the best 
market. And then distance is nothing nowadays. We leave 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


159 

here at 4.10 and are due at Dundee at 8.16. Say four hours. 
Plenty of milk-carts take about as long to drive into a town.” 

I admitted he was right. 

“ But the carriage will be expensive,” I represented. 

” Not so very expensive, I believe,” he said. ” Sir Irving 
gets easy rates, I’m told. He’s a director.” 

The information made me thoughtful. I passed it on to 
Bob, and ere Meiklejohn was home we had satisfied ourselves 
that it was correct. Might we not try such a scheme ? I 
wondered. The Lowis farmers who had milk to sell disposed 
of it locally, some hawking the villages, most supplying dairies 
in Craigkenneth. I knew that in Glasgow the market was 
unlimited. Every time I glanced down the advertisement 
columns of the Glasgow paper I saw a dozen dairies needing 
milk. But my notion was to be independent of outside dairies. 
These gave, I knew, eightpence or ninepence per gallon and 
retailed at a shilling or even fourteenpence. If all our tenants 
joined in the scheme, we should have store enough to supply 
a dairy of our own, and the big difference between wholesale 
and retail prices would cover working expenses and leave a 
handsome profit. I believed, too, that milk production would 
increase. Stock were not paying except on the largest hold- 
ings, grain, though improving, was still low, and with fair 
encouragement many of the tenants might be glad to resume 
dairy-farming. Meiklejohn thought well of the project and 
promised to inquire about suitable localities, rents of premises, 
and such matters. He remarked — and I had reckoned on this 
from the first — that if the scheme were properly put before 
the admiral it would have his support. The admiral was 
speculative and was deep in business ventures already. 

” One drawback I see,” the factor said. “ Sir Irving 
Beattie is a director and will get privileges from the railway. 
The admiral won’t have the same influence, though I know he’s 
a large shareholder.” 

I had thought of this. 

” Mr. Lyon is a director.” This was the head of the Clay- 
gate Fire-Clay Company. ” He can look after the admiral’s 
case.” 

As we anticipated, the admiral leaped on the first cast. 
Meiklejohn had to go round the tenantry, drop hints of the 
project and learn their mind. They were curious but cautious. 
Then the admiral invited them to discuss the question over 


i6o THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

a dinner which he provided in the riding-school. After the 
feast — the whisky, we took care, was not scrimped — the 
admiral explained the scheme fully. The business was to be 
owned and managed by a joint-stock company, and to show 
his faith in its success he was ready to become chairman, and 
take up half the shares. His red-faced audience were by this 
time satisfied with themselves and disposed to be satisfied 
with their laird, and amid their applauding roars the Lowis 
Milk Supply Company had its birth. 

Ere the company got to work there had been many a change 
on the first rough plan. The boldest was dispensing with 
railway service altogether. This is how we worked. A motor- 
truck, built with tiers to increase its capacity, left the Home 
Farm every morning at half-past four and picked up the milk- 
cans at all the steadings on the Lang Stracht and the highway. 
Farms on by-roads had carts waiting for it at certain points. 
The motor ran in to Glasgow and left its freight at our dairy 
in Springburn. It came back during the day and made a 
second trip with the afternoon’s milk. As compared with 
trains the motor saved time, money, and, most of all, labour. 
By enabling us to run in a second supply of milk fresh it did 
us a priceless service. The idea was my own, and I felt I 
deserved the unstinted praise it won me. So far as I know, 
this was the first use of the motor in milk-traffic. 

Though the admiral’s law-agent in Craigkenneth was the 
official secretary of the new company, the work at first fell 
mostly on the estate office. Admiral Seton allowed for this. 
A boy fresh from school, son of the Lucas schoolmaster, was 
engaged to help with the correspondence. My salary was 
raised to ten shillings. 

A bigger change took place in the winter. Bob went home, 
telling us he had had enough of factoring, and I was offered his 
place. The admiral himself came north to make the appoint- 
ment, and said some flattering things to me about having an 
old head on young shoulders. Indeed, I was only eighteen 
and a half. As assistant factor I had a salary of sixty-five 
pounds to start with, but I was to board and lodge myself. 
Meiklejohn and his wife would have taken me to stay with 
them had they not felt to rob old Mrs. Paterson of a pay- 
ing guest. As it was, I spent every other evening at 
Parkend. 

It was not business dealings only that showed how thoroughly 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


i6i 

the timid boy was lost in the self-confident youth. Soon after 
my appointment the young marchioness came home for 
Christmas with her brother and sister. Mrs. Seton was at 
home, but the admiral remained at Wollas Manor with Lord 
Soar, who was understood to be busy with estate affairs. 
Re^nald had me with him constantly, and both the young 
ladies made me a favourite, though they affected to look 
on me still as a boy. I was certainly changed from the wasted 
lad they had sometimes noticed with pity. Outdoor exercise, 
good living, congenial work, above all, happy friendships, 
were giving my looks a chance. There was a hard frost that 
season and we were often skating. One day the four of us 
went to Loch Share, a beautiful tarn high up on the moors. 
I looked after Miss Maymie, while Reginald attended to his 
older sister. To help Miss Maymie on and off with her skates 
hardly gave me a thrill ; once the mere thought would have 
made me swoon, maybe die. We had skated on till long past 
the close of day ; the full moon was up and the lone tarn 
gleamed like a diamond shield. At last we started homeward. 
As we marched down the moorland road. Miss Maymie, who, 
had surprised me already with her knowledge of estate affairs, 
plied me with questions about the Milk Supply Company. 
She wondered if something like it could not be started on the 
Daventry estates. But then the duke would need me to 
manage it, and papa wouldn’t care to part with me. 

“You could get the steward’s place at the manor,’’ she re- 
marked after more of this talk. “ Only it’s such a big house 
that you would need a wife to keep it. I’d look out an English 
girl for you. How would that do, James ? ’’ 

Now, whether unthinkingly or no, her ladyship, who had 
been my companion from the time we left the tarn, had been 
stepping out more briskly than usual for some minutes back, 
so that, at the moment the words were spoken, Reggie and 
his sister were out of earshot. As I have hinted, I had no 
sheepishness now with women or men. I told the marchioness 
with a laugh that I could not tell : I had never met any English 
girls. 

“ Perhaps you haven’t thought about girls yet ? Oh well, 
there’s time enough, James.’’ 

We were passing through the dark fir-woods and could not 
see each other well, else I should never have had boldness to 
speak as I did. And indeed, for all my assurance, for all my 

M 


i 62 tHE STORY OF A PLOtJGHBOY 

indifference to Miss Maymie, there was a tremble in my voice 
as I said, 

“ Do you know, Lady Soar, Eve been in love already.” 

She gave her little chuckle. 

” Oh, James ! surely not ! ” 

” Yes, and long ago too,” I insisted. 

“ Long ago ! You couldn’t be very mature, then. Who 
was it, James ? May I know ? Was it anybody I know ? ” 

” Y — yes,” I answered and laughed. “You should know 
her very well.” 

“ Some of the farmers’ daughters, James ? ” 

I roared with glee. 

“ Not at all, not at all. Very far from that ; oh ! very far 
indeed.” 

“ I’ll wager it was Len.” 

The guess, evening me with her sister, emboldened me to 
say, 

“ You’re very near. Try again.” 

“ I give it up. Tell me, James.” 

“You must guess, Lady Soar. I’ll tell you if you guess 
right.” 

“ Oh, I can’t. Don’t be provoking, James. Tell me, now 
that you’ve told me so much. Come, James ; there’s Len 
and Reggie coming.” 

We had certainly slowed when the talk grew so interesting, 
but I could not see or hear the others. 

I got out the words, “ It was you. Lady Soar,” and some- 
thing of the old passion, an ebbing wave of the flood, threatened 
my heart once more. 

We walked on a while in silence. 

“ Really, James ! ” the lady said at last, and the tone, if 
amused, was not without feeling. “ Was that before I knew 
you ? ’ 

“Yes’; it was before I came to the office at all. I was on 
a farm at the time — Abbot’s Mailing.” 

“ Oh yes.” After a few seconds she added, “You were 
badly treated there, weren’t you ? I heard papa say some- 
thing about that.” 

“ Yes ; I wasn’t well treated. Indeed, I couldn’t have 
lived through it if it hadn’t been for thinking of you.” 

The earnestness of my tone was partly assumed, still it had 
a power. Miss Maymie 's voice was very gentle as she said, 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


163 

“ How strange ! And I knew nothing about it or even 
about you." In a little the chuckle returned to her voice : 
" Is the feeling quite gone now, James ? " 

“ Anything but that," I answered without a falter. " Of 
course, it’s different now because — because you’re married." 

She laughed again. Then she said, 

" It’s a pity I didn’t know about that— I mean, about your 
being so badly treated. We might have helped you sooner." 

Here Mrs. Matthias- James and Reggie did let us hear their 
voices, and certainly our talk had been so engrossing as almost 
to bring us to a stand. 

" However," the marchioness found time to say, "it’s 
possible I may be able to help you some time," and I thanked 
her fervently. 

We did not fall into such talk again, but it was only a few 
days after that I had a chance of testing the charm of English 
girls. 

In the last week of the year I was at Parkend one evening 
by invitation. I had supposed the factor wanted to make 
sure of me for draughts ; I found, however, he had visitors, 
two young ladies. One, Mrs. Meiklejohn’s niece, had been 
over in Germany, I already knew, for her education ; the other, 
a fellow-student, belonged to Birmingham. The niece, a 
remarkably tall, erect girl, with swelling bust, attracted me 
first. She proved rather stiff, however, and as I thought 
too much of myself to bother with overcoming her reserve I 
drew off to her companion. Miss Round, a neatly made little 
lass, with red hair, very pure complexion, and maddening 
dimples in her fresh cheeks. She welcomed me at once, and 
I was soon of Miss Maymie’s opinion, that an English girl was 
the one for me. The pair were chattering every now and then 
about their foreign life and friends ; Miss Round sang to the 
other’s accompaniment, and after the song Meiklejohn laid 
out the draught-board, in spite of protests from his wife and 
the girls, who wanted me for whist. 

" One game, one game only ; we haven’t played this week," 
and leave was given on condition that the ladies should have 
me afterwards. 

While we were at the board the girls were looking out 
another song. They had not brought music and had to use 
Mrs. Meiklejohn’s, which was rather ancient. 

" Here you are, Nina," I heard Miss Round say at last, and 


164 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


she sat down at the piano while the tall niece held herself 
ready to sing. 

The pianist played a few bars and her friend began. It was 
Haydn's song, “ My mother bids me bind my hair.” The 
words I knew already and liked ; the air, which I now heard 
for the first time, is charming. But had both been ever so 
paltry, the singer would have made them divine. The pure 
soprano notes gushed out with such power, such passion, yet 
with such ease and freedom — I was at their mercy. If my 
friends had not been watching the singer, they would have 
remarked my white cheeks and wet eyes. When the factor 
and I resumed our game, I wilfully made blunders so as to 
join his niece the sooner. She was still beside the piano, 
turning over old music-sheets. 

” Miss Fleming,” I began, ” I have heard you sing before.” 

” Indeed ! ” she said with more interest than she had yet 
favoured me with. ” I don’t remember ever meeting you.” 

She was so tall and straight that, though I am somewhat 
over the average height for a man, our eyes were level. I 
did not know I was gazing into hers so earnestly till a warm 
blush swept her face. 

” I can’t be mistaken,” I insisted. ” Did you not sing once 
at Lowis House ? ” While she was reflecting, I explained, 

This is some years ago. It was at a kind of party in the 
riding-school. It’ll be — let me see — it’ll be ” 

” I remember,” the girl cried, her face lighting wonder- 
fully ; “I was visiting aunt at the time. But that’s long, 
long ago ; it was long before I went to Leipsic.” 

” Yes ; it’s three years ago — three years next month. 
You sang ‘ Mary Morison.’ ” 

” Did I ? ” and she laughed. “ It’s more than I could do 
now, then. I don’t recollect the name even at this moment.” 

” I haven’t forgotten it, you see, and I’m not likely ever to 
forget it.” When she looked at me questioningly, I continued, 
"You will have forgotten, no doubt, that, while you were 
singing, someone in the audience, a ploughboy, broke down 
and there was a little commotion and ” 

“Yes, and I stopped,” she cried. “ I recollect it now, 
though I should never have recalled it myself. Yes ; the boy 
took ill or something.” 

“ I was the boy. Miss Fleming.” 

“ You ! you, Mr. Bryce ! I thought it was a ploughboy.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


165 


** I was a ploughboy at the time.” 

Her eyes spoke wonder though “ Oh ! ” was all she said. 
She might be afraid of hurting me. We stood a few seconds 
without speaking ; then I observed, 

“ You don’t ask why I cried.” 

She laughed. 

“ I suppose you were ill or in trouble.” 

” Well, yes, I certainly was. I was in great distress, and 
I had heard the song before at a time when I was also in 
trouble. So that might account for my breaking down then. 
But I have nothing to trouble me now, and this is the first time 
I’ve heard the song you gave us to-night ; and yet I had 
another breakdown, though in a quieter way. So I'm afraid 
your singing has to do with it.” 

She gave a little laugh, and said she mustn’t sing any more, 
then. It was clear enough, though, that she was interested. 

She and I were drawn for partners. During the game I 
was aware that she was often watching me ; more than once, 
indeed, I caught her and we exchanged a smile. I was now 
satisfied that her looks were very attractive ; as for her figure, 
it was that of a young queen. Her face was round and fresh, 
the features were small, almost babyish, but there was plenty 
of strength in the steady brown eyes under the thick meeting 
brows. 

The rubber over, the two of us drew together. 

” Do you know, Mr. Bryce,” she began, ” I could almost 
believe I recollect your face ? It’s only a dim memory, of 
course, just like a dream. You were sitting on the left-hand 
side of the hall.” 

” The right.” 

” Oh, indeed ! You’re quite sure ? ” 

” Ah ! but where are you supposed to be looking from ? ” 
I inquired. ” Do you mean as you were looking or as I was 
looking ? ” 

” As I was looking ; that is, facing the audience.” 

” You’re quite right. Miss Fleming. I was on the left side,” 

” And well forward ? ” 

” Yes.” 

“ And nearly at the wall ? ” 

” Quite right again.” 

” Do you know how I recognised you ? ” 

No,” I said, smiling. 


i66 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ I must have glanced at you once or twice afterwards that 
night, and to-night, when you spoke of having been in trouble, 
your face had an expression that made me imagine I could 
recall you as you were then. But, of course, it may be fancy. 
Now that you’re talking and not thinking, the expression is 
gone and I couldn’t recognise you.” 

” Naturally. I’m not in trouble at present when I’m talking 
with you. But, Miss Fleming, you are changed too and it’s 
by your voice I knew you again. You were only a school- 
girl then, and, if you’ll allow me to say so, rather scraggy at 
that.” 

She laughed gaily. “ I must have been a guy if I was at all 
like my old photos. But I’m a sort of schoolgirl yet, you 
know.” 

” I know you’re over at Leipsic for music. Do you mean 
to come out as a professional ? ” 

“ If I get my own way. But papa and, still more, mamma 
are like to break their hearts at the idea. They don’t under- 
stand and they imagine all sorts of things.” 

” Look here, Nina,” Miss Round called to her friend across 
the table at supper, ” it was too bad of you trying to take my 
lad from me. But I mean to keep him now that I’ve got him 
back.” 

” Oh, we were only talking about old times. Do you know, 
auntie, Mr. Bryce recollects me from the night I sang at 
Lowis House three years ago ? Do you recollect, auntie, what 
I sang ? ” 

Neither Mrs. Meiklejohn nor her husband could name the 
song, though both remembered the occasion. 

” Mr. Bryce must have been more interested in my singing 
than you were,” said their niece. ” He could tell me the name 
of it.” 

She did not speak, however, nor did I, of the effect her sing- 
ing had had upon me that night. 

Both girls left next day. Miss Round having to return home. 
Nina paid another and a longer visit to her aunt. I would 
have had her singing constantly, and to make her gratify 
me I told her, as a great secret, of a pastime I sometimes 
indulged : I made verses. She had to see some of my attempts 
and she sang them to familiar airs. Most of the things were 
worthless and I will not repeat them. One, by a chance, has 
become popular. This is how it came into Miss Fleming’s hands. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 167 

The night before she left she was pressing me to sing. I told 
her, as I had often done before, that I was no singer. 

“ Uncle says, ‘ Learn young, learn fair,’ ” she rejoined. 

“ But most of the songs I know are for ladies," I objected. 

" Why not write one for yourself ? " she asked promptly. 

Next morning as I was bidding her good-bye I handed her 
the verses. She was delighted, mainly, I fear, because she 
thought she was the inspiration. They had been written long 
before ; indeed, it was the first verse, though in a simpler form, 
that had so interested the great professor. As I say, Nina 
did not suspect this, nor did I tell her. She was so fond of the 
words that she declared she should have them set to music. 
The curious chance that has given them their vogue as a 
love-song I will mention at the proper time. Meanwhile, 
here is the song ; in some version it will be known to many 
readers. 

THREE MOMENTS 

Three moments, fraught with rapture wild, 

Abide in memory : 

When I, an inland-nurtured child, 

First saw the open sea ; 

And when I left the solitude 
Where only lapwings wail, 

And waited in a Wiltshire wood 
To hear the nightingale : 

And when, like any wildered bird 
The storm hath drifted down, 

I lighted in the Strand and heard 
The roar of London town. 

But deeper, sweet, within my breast 
Doth that fond moment dwell 

When first thy love-lit eyes confessed 
What never lips would tell. 


i68 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XVIII 

M ISS FLEMING’S father was a banker in Aletown, 
a place nearly as big as Craigkenneth, six miles 
further down the river and on the opposite, that is, 
the north shore. I had promised to spend a night 
there before the young lady should return to Leipsic. The 
day of my visit Mr. Meiklejohn let me off in good time, and 
suggested that, instead of cycling in to Craigkenneth and 
waiting on a train, I should ride down through the flat carse 
country till I was opposite Aletown, and then cross by the 
ferry-boat. My directions had been so minute that I found 
the banker’s house without once needing to inquire. Nina 
was on the lookout and met me in the hall with hearty frank- 
ness. Her mother next appeared, a lady favouring her sister at 
Parkend, though not so short or plump or dark. But the 
daughter next Nina, little Tib, was as like her aunt as a girl 
of sixteen can be like a woman of sixty. She even had the 
hsp, and very droll was its effect when she would make a 
startling remark with the most innocent air. Nina took me up 
to the library, a cosy little room at the back, to see her father. 
Though called the library, it had only one bookcase and that 
was small ; the books, I afterwards learned, were Mr. Fleming’s 
own favourites. The banker was sitting in a round red- 
leather chair, reading and smoking. He was a taU man of 
strong, heavy make, brown-haired, blue-eyed. When a few 
words had passed he indicated the volume in his hand. Latter- 
day Pamphlets. 

“ I was having a look at old Thomas,” he remarked. 

I had already noticed that one whole shelf and part of 
another were fiUed with the familiar brown-and-gilt 
octavos. 

“ Is he a favourite of yours ? ” I asked, surprised at such 
a predilection in a business man, above all, a banker, 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


169 

“Yes. I take a spell at him whenever I have an hour. 
Do you like him ? “ 

I had tried Sartor Resartus a good while ago, I told him, 
but had stuck in the first part. 

“ That’s hardly the book to start with,’’ the banker said. 
“You should begin with some of the plainer works, the Life 
of John Sterling, for instance. Once you got acquainted with 
him, you would want to know more of him.’’ 

“ Mr. Bryce’s favourite reading is poetry,’’ Nina observed ; 
and she glanced at me with a meaning smile. 

“ Indeed ! ’’ said her father. “ Old Thomas tried hard to 
write poetry, but he was too rugged. Though in the wee bits 
that he did hammer out there’s the real stuff,’’ and he quoted 
with effect : 

** * The night is gathering on the waste ; 

Loud through the storm the herdsman calls, 

As homeward on my nag I haste 
Toward my own four walls.’ 

“ That may not be smooth or pretty,’’ he commented, 
“ but it has the true ring. I can imagine myself out on the 
moorland wilds of the Borders when darkness is coming down. 
I was brought up on a Dumfriesshire farm, next parish to 
Carlyle’s own ; so I can appreciate the truth of his picture. 

I like a thing to have a grip of reality, whether it’s poetry or 
prose.’’ 

To find a literary critic in a banker was another surprise. 
The rest of the household, too, were interesting. There was 
a son older than Nina ; he was in a branch bank a few miles 
from Aletown and came home at nights. -A younger brother, 
twin with Tib, was an apprentice-engineer ; other children, 
both boys and girls, were at school ; some were too young 
even for that. 

At dinner the oldest son mentioned that he would not see 
much of me that evening ; he had to attend a music-practice ; 
the local amateurs were to perform The Grand Duchess that 
winter. 

In the talk that followed I chanced to say I had seen 
Carmen in Glasgow a few weeks before, with a noted singer as 
heroine. 

“ Ah ! ’’ said Nina, with a tragedy air and a sweeping wave 
of the arm, “ that will be my role when I go on the stage,’’ 
and she glahced archly first at me, then at her mother. 


170 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ I hope you’ll find a worthier calling,” Mrs. Fleming said 
with a pained expression. 

” Mamma thinks Nina ’ll have to appear in tights,” lisped 
little Tib. 

The young folk laughed, but Mrs. Fleming said reprovingly, 

” Don’t say such things, Tib. Your papa and I think it 
nothing to joke about.” 

The children were all musical, those at least who were old 
enough to have the taste. Tibbie played the violin, the 
apprentice-engineer the flute. All of them sang. 

Weekly after this, though Nina was off to far-away Saxony, 
I made a run to Aletown. The older boys and girls were a 
real orchestra, and in the pauses of the music their father and 
I talked about books. At his suggestion I tried Carlyle 
again, and I became a prime favourite with the banker when 
I told him how I admired his hero’s works for their dramatic 
power, their wealth of allusion. When visiting Aletown, I 
cycled if the roads were good ; at other times I got Meikle- 
john’s pony and stabled it at the ferry-house. Usually I 
spent the night with the banker and came back the next 
morning in time for office-work. 

The ferry-house, so familiar in those days, claims a word. 
It stood a hundred yards or so from the river, and though 
opposite a populous town, was as lone a dwelling as one could 
readily find. Originally a farm-steading, it still retained a 
field for grazing the boatman’s cow. The boatman had been 
forester on a carse estate, and when too old for his own duties 
had been given this easier place. He was a fine-looking old 
man, with bright, frank grey eyes and a long broad beard 
almost white. His big wrists and spreading shoulders told 
the strength he must have boasted in his prime. He knew 
me from, I think, the first, certainly the second, visit ; indeed, 
the Lowis land went down to within half a mile of the ferry 
and he may have seen me about. I had the feeling even that 
he knew the attraction at Aletown ; how he knew, I cannot 
tell ; in the country news spreads through the air. The old 
man was a philosopher and loved to have a listener. Usually 
as we crossed, I taking the oars, he had some topic to pass judg- 
ment on. It was on my third visit, I think, that he remarked, 

” The estate will improve since the dairy scheme has been 
initiated.” He was fond of sounding words. ” It will attract 
a superior class of tenants.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 171 

I assented, and he went on, 

Yes. A factor has a great deal to do with the prosperity 
of an estate. A good factor is a boon to the community." 

I had to smile, not at the sentiment, which was quite my 
own, but at the expression. “ A boon to the community " 
was evidently a catchword of old Mitchell’s ; he had used it 
once before when I was crossing. I repeated it at the banker’s, 
and for many a week afterwards little Tibbie lisped " a boon 
to the community ’’ at every chance. 

My experience was now long enough and wide enough to 
tell me that the community did not always appreciate the 
boon. Well as I thought of myself, I was becoming aware 
that the Lowis tenantry regarded me much as rats must regard 
a weasel. They, too, had reason. If my foresight and energy 
were enhancing the value of the estate, I did not mean that 
the surplus should go to the farmers. Nor did Meiklejohn. 
Nor did the admiral. It was clearly, if tacitly, understood 
that the gain was to be the landlord’s. At the earliest chance 
we made this plain. The first lease to fall in after our dairy 
scheme was started was that of Rullie, a place I passed every 
time I cycled to the ferry ; it was indeed the outmost but one 
of our farms in that quarter. The tenant would give no more 
than the old rent and the place was advertised. Strangers, 
some from great distances, looked it, drawn by the fame of 
the Milk Supply Company, and when the tenders came in it 
was found that we could get £35 above the old rent. The 
outgoing tenant, even, had offered £ 1 ^, a proof that he feared 
competition. His family had been so long on the estate that 
both the admiral and Meiklejohn felt reluctant to turn him 
out ; finally, he had to choose between leaving and pa3dng. 
The transaction was soon public and other tenants growled. 
What was the use of making a few more pounds out of the land 
if they were all to pass to the laird ? Every day brought fresh 
proof that the estate was a battlefield where a host of farmers 
was faced by the dauntless three. I had an instinct, even, 
that I was more hated than my superiors. The tenants 
could not but feel that things had been strung up since my 
hand got play ; they saw that I had more energy and less 
forbearance than the admiral or his factor. This, however, 
must be said for me : I would often be made the scapegoat 
when my friends were as deep in the sin as myself. A 
community with a grievance is ready to throw the guilt on 


172 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


underlings. “ It’s no the laird’s daein’ ; the laird kens nae- 
thing aboot it ; it’s that damned factor,” had always been 
the growl with tenantry, and I guessed ours would go further 
now, and curse not the factor but his clerk. 

What were my relations with the ploughmen on the estate ? 
Had any fellow-feeling clung about me from the days I had 
been one of themselves and had shared their work and hard- 
ships ? That seemed long ago ; I had since been raised to 
another class, and I looked on the labourers with calm in- 
difference. I was quite affable, gave them a careless nod and 
word in passing ; and they responded clownishly or com- 
posedly, or, if so minded, did not respond at all, for they were 
less in my power than their masters. On an occasion like 
the admiral’s treat I made myself busy and, I hoped, agree- 
able ; for the rest of the year I took no more interest in them 
than in the horses they worked. 

In the workers about the house and the Home Farm my 
interest was keen enough ; there lay my duty. Early in 
my career I made certain discoveries that shocked me. One 
day in Craigkenneth mart a saddler, who was moving about 
on the hunt, I suppose, for slow-paying farmers, accosted me : 

” So I’m losing your custom, Mr. Bryce ? ” 

” I wasn’t aware of that,” I said. 

” It’s the case, then. Edmond is to be the man, it seems.” 

” How is that ? ” I asked. ” Has your harness not been 
up to the mark ? ” 

” Harness ! haw, haw ! It’s the commission that wasna 
up to the mark.” 

” The commission ! To whom ? ” 

” To the coachman, of coorse.” 

” Oh, come ! ” I said, greatly surprised, yet collected 
enough to see the importance of the secret ; ” you don’t mean 
that Ferguson takes tips from tradesmen ? ” 

” Damn it, Mr. Bryce ! have I no paid him a’ these years ? 
I gied him a shilling in the pound on the admiral’s accoont 
every time it was settled. I’ll not deny it,” he added with a 
laugh. The man had been taking a whisky or two, doubtless 
to get nerve for dunning his debtors. ” A shilling in the pound 
was the figure. But my gentleman wasna content, and seem- 
ingly Edmond can pay mair. I doot it’ll have to come oot 
o’ the harness.” 

That very evening I told Meiklejohn. That gentleman 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


173 

gave an Imphm ” or two, and when I was done he 
said, 

“ It's not right, certainly ; it’s far from right, James. 
But what can we do ? ” Seeing my surprised look, he ex- 
plained, “You see, it's done universally ; all the servants 
about a big house take perquisites. Of course, as I say, it’s 
wrong, for the temptation is to accept inferior goods for the 
sake of the bribe. But we’re next to helpless. No doubt 
we could inform the admiral — maybe he suspects already, 
maybe he doesn’t — and Ferguson would be dismissed. We 
might prosecute him and punish him, ay, and Philp as well, 
for there’s an Act now against those commissions. What 
would be the upshot, James ? The next man would go the 
same road, maybe faster. There’s not one person in twenty 
about a big house but does the same as Ferguson, and I’m 
only thankful that with us having the Home Farm and grow- 
ing most of the feed for our horses there’s the less temptation 
here. How has your uncle Nicol made his money, think you ? 
I’ll tell you, James. Until lately, when he has got rather 
frail, he did a great deal with hay and corn, supplying gentry 
for their horses, even buying in what he couldn’t grow himself. 
You’ll know that, James, for he was pretty deep in that when 
you were with him. Well, take Miss Galbraith,’’ a lady who 
owned a fine mansion on the outskirts of Craigkenneth. 
“ She has no ground about Charterston and needs to buy all 
her feeding-stuffs. It was your decent old uncle that used to 
supply her, maybe he supphes her yet. Now, I know for a 
certainty that he paid Miss Galbraith’s coachman sixpence 
in the pound on all hay, straw, and corn supplied. In other 
cases the commission was even higher. If the account was 
over £100 a year, as it always was with Colonel Abercromby, 
Nicol had to pay a shilling in the pound, the same as our 
friend Philp.’’ 

“That’ll mean a big addition to a coachman’s wage, 
between corn-dealer, saddler and maybe coachbuilder as 
well.’’ 

“ Yes, James, even to the smith that shoes the horses. 
No question of it. He may make his wage half as much again. 
It’s a custom. And the women-servants are as good at it as 
the men. There’s Mrs. Adams ’’ — the housekeeper at Lowis. 
“ It’s not our business, certainly ; I merely mention it. She’ll 
have commission, either in presents or hard cash, from 


174 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


grocer, and butcher, and baker, and every tradesman that 
supplies the house. She’ll double her salary that way. Yes, 
James ; the upper servants about a big house are as good at 
lifting blackmail as Rob Roy MacGregor. I see no help for 
it. All we can do, James, is to watch that no barefaced 
stealing goes on. And in some cases, maybe, we can see that 
the goods supplied are not manifestly inferior.” 

I made even closer acquaintance with the practice. As I 
was passing the Steeple in Craigkenneth one afternoon, a 
young man addressed me by name, apologising for stopping 
me. He had a fresh ruddy face and was well i'essed. 

“I’m Mr. Wingate, the timber-merchant,” he explained. 

“ Oh ! you’re not the Mr. Wingate I’ve met.” 

“ No ; that would be my brother. He’s away now and 
I’m carrying on the business.” 

Now that the relationship was mentioned I did see a family 
likeness. 

“ I wanted to speak with you for a minute on business. 
Would you mind stepping over ? ” and he indicated the 
Grapes. 

I excused myself. 

“ All right, then ; I won’t keep you a minute ; ” and he 
sauntered on with me. “ I merely wanted a word with you 
about the timber that’s advertised.” 

“ Yes ? ” 

“ I meant to offer for the larch lot.” 

“ Well, offers must be in by the 31st.” 

“ Yes, I know. But I was anxious to have your good word.” 
When I looked at him questioningly, he proceeded, “ Of course, 
I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll see to that.” 

I began to comprehend and I could not repress a smile. 
To draw him out I said, 

“ I don’t see how I could help you. The offers are to be 
sent in sealed.” 

“ Quite so. But here’s the point. Will Admiral Setonbe 
at the opening of the tenders ? ” 

“ It’s hardly likely. He’s abroad at present.” 

“ And the offers are to be addressed to Mr. Meiklejohn ; so 
that the lawyers have nothing to do with them, I take it ? ” 

“ Nothing at all.” 

“ So it’s you and the factor.” 

“ Yes ; the factor and I.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


175 


“ Then it’s quite simple. Nobody but you and Mr. Meikle- 
john will know what the other firms offer. I name a figure 
that leaves me a decent margin, and though some other man 
goes more you give the timber to me and I’ll pay you some- 
thing handsome out of the difference. Of course, Mr. Meikle- 
john will have to be squared as well ; but you could do that, 
or let me know how I could best approach him.” 

” Look here,” I said. “ Is there much of this in your line 
of business ? ” 

” Much of it ! I’ll tell you what it is, Mr. Bryce, nothing 
can be done without it. There’s hardly a tree bought up and 
down the country but the factor, and often the forester, has 
to be bought first. I’ll tell you something : it’s on that very 
account I’m managing the business. My brother — the one 
you’ve met — tried to run it on honest lines, gave in a fair offer 
for wood and took his chance. What was the result ? He 
couldn't buy a stick latterly, and the timber was going to 
men that he knew for a certainty weren’t giving anything 
like his figure.” 

” What became of your brother ? ” 

” He’s away abroad ; went to California. He was far too 
simple for this country.” 

” And how is he succeeding in California ? Is there no 
‘ squaring ’ there ? ” 

” He hasn’t gone into the timber-trade ; in fact, he hasn’t 
gone in for anything yet — he’s just looking about and talks 
of buying a bit of land somewhere.” 

” Well,” I said, not trying to hide my amusement, “if he 
didn’t know how to square his men, his brother won’t stick 
through the same fault.” 

The youth tried to laugh, though he evidently did not relish 
the banter. 

” What can one do, Mr. Bryce ? I don’t say it’s a nice 
way to do business ; it would be better to name a figure and 
take your chance. But if other men try dodges, you must do 
the same or get left.” 

” I don’t think you’ll get left ; ” and I laughed outright. 
” However, it won't succeed in this case.” 

” How’s that ? ” 

” For two reasons. One is that Mr. Meiklejohn isn’t a 
factor who countenances those dodges.” 

” That’s all right ; ” and he half-closed his eyes and nodded 


176 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


his head. " Let me get at him and I’ll show you different.” 

” I think you’re mistaken ; indeed, I’m sure you are. But, 
independently of that, I don’t take tips myself.” 

” Look here,” and the young fellow took me by the arm ; 
” it’ll be something handsome. I’m not the man to stick for 
a pound or two.” 

” That’s enough,” I said, with a manner he could not mis- 
take. ” Send in your offer if you like, but let’s have no more 
of this.” 

” I say, Mr. Bryce,” and he took a step after me ; ” you 
won’t give me away ? ” 

” I won’t hurt you — this time. Send in your offer and take 
your chance with the rest.” 

I merely did my friend justice in defending him to the 
enterprising timber-dealer. Meiklejohn was above such 
trafficking. He had ways, certainly, of eking out his salary. 
Often he was called in as thirdsman in agricultural disputes. 
Then he did a great deal in valuing land, crop, and stock. 
This was all done openly, and was calculated to recommend him 
to the admiral, who would see that his factor was a recognised 
authority in his own sphere. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


177 


CHAPTER XIX 

O LD NICOL — my “ uncle,” as I had to call him now — 
had been failing ; an ulcer was understood to be 
gnawing his stomach. I rarely went near him, for 
my Aletown friends attracted me on spare even- 
ings, and when Meiklejohn visited the Mailing he was left to 
go alone. Sometimes he did not see Pate’s wife ; twice he 
found her tipsy. After one of his visits the factor assured me 
that I was well provided for ; he had Nicol’s own word. 

The day my uncle died was a Thursday, a Craigkenneth 
market-day. I remember it for more things than one. The 
morning had brought me a sweet letter from Leipsic. I could 
only glance it over at the moment, for I was due in Craig- 
kenneth before eleven and there was office business to attend 
to. So I laid the dear note in my breast-pocket and promised 
myself the treat of reading it again at my leisure and dwelling 
on every word. 

Meiklejohn often sent me to the mart in his place, and I 
liked the errand. It was pleasant to saunter about the pens 
and rings, a cigarette between my teeth, to give a knowing 
glance at the sheep and cattle, nod affably to our own tenants, 
stand and chat with some well-attired factor or laird. Im- 
portant, too, it made one feel to mount beside the salesman as 
our big sleek beasts were driven in and to note how the buyers 
gazed at them with eager interest, then glanced to each other 
and gave their heads a serious shake. It was all an acknow- 
ledgment that we knew how to handle stock. 

” Aha ! here we are, gentlemen ! From Lowis House, from 
the admiral's Home Farm. Ah ! a model. How much to 
start me ? What do you say, Harry ? Twenty-four ? 
Twenty-three ? Twenty ? Eighteen ? Eighteen, I’m bid ; 
five, ten,” and so on, as the bodes came thick. 

The four beasts we had in that day fetched top prices and 

N 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


178 

I came down from the salesman’s box well pleased. Then 
I recollected the letter in my breast-pocket. Business was all 
over ; it was time for enjoyment. Leaving the ring where 
the auctioneer’s voice dominated the hum of the buyers, I 
strolled through the pens where sheep were bleating, cattle 
roaring, and bullock-wallopers slashing and cursing, and in a 
quiet corner of the yard near the loading-bank I sat down on 
a bar-flake to enjoy the dear letter. 

Nina told me how busy she was with her harmony and prac- 
tising, what special music she had been hearing at Easter, 
and so on. For all her working she was wearying a good deal. 
Wasn’t it strange ? She had never wearied before. She felt 
she could not hold out till the summer term closed, so her aunt 
and she had been exchanging letters and had concocted a rare 
plan. Suppose she came through at the Pentecost recess ? 
Not home, only as far as London. Her mamma and auntie 
could meet her there and have a week in London together, as 
they had had before. Her papa didn’t care for travelling, 
and her uncle might not be free, but auntie was sure that Mr. 
Bryce would be quite willing to accompany the ladies and take 
care of them. Then, about another thing. Herr Lobstein, 
who had kept my song for some months, had at last composed 
an air that satisfied him. She liked it too, and hoped I should. 
She enclosed a copy of the air with her love. 

It seemed to me that I had never felt so exalted as I was 
that day. Such moods come to us at times, how it is not easy 
to tell. The season helps to bring them, maybe. That was 
one of the sweetest April days, with a soft fresh breeze and 
open sky, the air so clear that as I glanced towards the Ogle 
hillsides I could have counted every scar. All else conspired 
to my exaltation ; my business at the mart carried through so 
well, and now this message, so flattering, so tender ! I felt 
as if all was well with me, as if the world was mine. The 
feeling stayed through the afternoon, and was as strong as 
ever while I drove up the Lang Stracht. At Cambuslochan 
gate Mrs. Ralston was waiting to tell me my uncle was dead. 

He had been out the day before and had seemed no frailer 
than usual. At the funeral Big Pate and I were chief mourners. 
Meiklejohn accompanied me back to the Mailing and heard 
the will read by a clerk from the ofiice of the Craigkenneth 
writer who had managed the old man’s affairs. 

“ This is the last Will and Testament of me, Nicholas^Gow 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


179 

farmer, of Abbot’s Mailing, in the Parish of Lucas and County 
of Craigkenneth ; and I hereby revoke,” &c. 

As the clerk was reading, I happened to glance at my fellow- 
mourners, and though I was interested enough in what was to 
come I was forced to smile. Two strangers, who counted 
kin to my old uncle, one an elderly farmer from about Ayr, 
the other a shopkeeper from Edinburgh, were glowering at 
the reader as if life depended on his words. Pate’s wife had 
her usual oily smile ; Pate’s face wore an expression that 
seemed queer at the moment but was soon interpreted. 

“ My shares in the Commercial Bank,” read the clerk, ” I 
leave to Barbara Norrie or Mackinlay, wife of my nephew 
Peter Mackinlay, and presently residing at Abbot’s Mailing, 
absolutely and for her own sole use and benefit, and in 
acknowledgment of the care she has taken of my household 
affairs and of myself.” 

As if our heads had been worked by the same wire, they all 
turned slowly to let our eyes rest on the fortunate lady. She 
glanced back at us, taking us in order, and I thought her 
smile was oilier than ever. 

” All other money possessed by me or due to me at the time 
of my death I leave to my nephew, Peter Mackinlay, abso- 
lutely. My property and goods at Abbot’s Mailing and else- 
where, the stock, crop and implements of the farm, household 
effects and all belongings of every description, I leave to 
the said Peter Mackinlay. And I appoint the said Peter 
Mackinlay and Barbara, his wife, joint executors of this my 
will.” 

When the reading was over, we all relieved our lungs with 
a long breath. For some seconds there was silence ; then 
Meiklejohn asked, 

” What did you say was the date of the will ? ” 

” The 20th December,” said the clerk, referring to the docu- 
ment. 

The factor looked puzzled and I knew why he had put the 
question. 

The farmer and shopkeeper exchanged a whisper and sniffed 
disdainfully. Pate’s wife was smiling as usual, but Big Pate 
himself glowered straight at me, hate and triumph in his 
black eyes. 

” I can’t understand yon at all,” Mr. Meiklejohn said as we 
walked towards Parkend. ” That will is dated the 20th 


i8o THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

December. Now, it was a while after that that your uncle 
assured me you were provided for, wasn't it ? " 

“ Yes ; it was only a month or two since. Let's see. 
You told me one morning after I got back from Aletown, and 
it wasn't one of my first visits. It can't be over two months 
since." 

" That's about what I thought. Now, what could Nicol 
mean by saying two months ago that he had put things right 
for you when this will, made in December, that's two months 
before, was standing ? " 

As I said nothing, he suggested an answer himself. 

" Don't you think he must have made a later will ? " 

" No," I said unhesitatingly ; " my opinion is, he was 
simply telling you a lie." 

" What could be his motive, James ? " 

" Just to keep us off him, to keep us from pressing him." 

" Then you think " 

" That the woman had got him completely in her power. 
I had a feeling the first night I saw her that she would." 

" Well, James," said the factor deliberatively, " that was 
partly my mind too, and I'm not sure but I said as much to 
you. Still, I'm not satisfied. I'll speak to Sawers " — this 
was the admiral's agent in Craigkenneth — " and if a later will 
was made we may find it yet." 

Avarice was not one of my failings, and the loss of my 
uncle's money would never in itself have given me a regret. 
But the money had gone to Big Pate. Since I entered the 
admiral's service, my hate towards my brutal tyrant had not 
been active. I had been successful, I had pleasant interests 
to distract me ; to be above Pate, to have him partly in my 
power, had been satisfaction enough. Now he was triumph- 
ing. His past cruelty came to mind and I swore vengeance. 
I did not tell Meiklejohn ; I told nobody. Better even, I 
felt, to hide my designs from Pate himself. So when Meikle- 
john mentioned that Pate proposed to carry on his uncle's 
holding, I said there was no reason why he should not. 

" Well, that’s my feeling too," my friend said. " The 
admiral may as well have a slice of the four thousand as 
another laird.” 

Old Nicol’s estate had been published at this figure. 

" Only,” the factor went on, " he won’t get it at the old 
rent. It's worth three shillings an acre more." 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


i8i 


Half a crown, anyway,'’ I suggested, anxious to keep my 
enemy on the estate. 

I was in Meiklejohn’s room when Big Pate came down to 
the office to give his decision. The lease was ready, though 
it was not yet signed by the admiral. 

“ I’ve been thinkin’ ower it,” said Pate, ” and I’m prepared 
to gie the rent ; but on condition that ye mak’ big alterations.” 

” You spoke of alterations, but not big ones. What do you 
want done altogether ? ” 

Weel, aboot the enlairgement o’ the byre ” 

” It’ll be enlarged whenever you like. You spoke of keeping 
half a dozen more cows.” 

” Ay, but — but I’ve been thinkin’ ye micht as weel provide 
for a dizzen when ye’re at it. It’ll be a’ ae daein’.” 

” That’ll cost something like £350.” 

” Ay, but look at the big addition to the rent.” 

” You’ll get the byre enlarged to hold a dozen cows when- 
ever you say the word,” the factor assured him. 

” Weel,” Pate was beginning in a complacent tone, when 
my friend interrupted him, 

” Of course, you pay interest on the outlay.” The other 
merely stared, and Meiklejohn continued, ” It’s five per cent, 
on all building alterations.” 

” Five per cent. ! ” Pate roared. ” My uncle never paid 
a penny, and the maist o’ the steading was rebuilt bit by bit 
in his time.” 

” Things are changed now. This rule has been in force for 
the last two years and four tenants have come under it already. 
So you’ll be no worse off than your neighbours. Lowis farmers 
can well afford to pay interest, and the admiral doesn’t get 
money to build with for nothing.” 

” But he’s gettin’ a big rise in rent.” 

” That’s because tenants are thriving, thanks to the Supply 
Company.” 

” I canna do ’t,” Pate growled. 

” All right. We must try and find somebody that can.” 

” I would do a fair thing ; I would pay the interest or 
gie the rise o’ rent, but I’ll no dae baith.” 

” That’s settled, then ; we’ll advertise the place.” 

Afraid as I was of letting my enemy slip, I could not see a 
chance to interfere. He caught me watching him and prob- 
ably misread my looks. 


i 82 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ m think ower it ; I canna dae ’t the noo, that’s certain.” 

” Well, we can’t give you long, for it’s time the place was 
in the papers. I may tell you that I’ve been approached 
already by intending offerers, and I don’t look for much 
trouble in getting it let.” 

The man was in great perplexity. He had risen and was 
standing near the door. After the factor had spoken, he stood 
a little gnawing his under-lip, then without a word he flung 
himself into the chair at the desk and clumsily signed his 
name. The fear of letting another man in may have been the 
strongest motive in deciding him. I could not repress a smile 
when he was passing out, and he answered it with a scowl 
that should have blasted me on the spot. 

“ That’s settled, then,” my friend remarked when we had 
the room to ourselves. “I’m only afraid he’ll be little credit 
to the estate, and his wife still less.” 

He was not out in his forecast. As soon as he entered on 
the tack. Big Pate gave up working his pair and engaged a 
married ploughman, making him first man. The single 
ploughman might be chagrined at having a stranger brought 
in over his head ; at all events, a wild row broke out the first 
time the Big Mill visited the Mailing. The second man was 
building the straw and Pate, who was touched with drink, 
found fault with his work. The man spoke back ; Pate 
ordered him down and put his mate in his place. Whereupon 
the ploughman with loud curses told him to get somebody 
else to work his horses as well. He thought, no doubt, to 
embarrass the farmer by throwing up his work on a throng 
day. As it happened, there were plenty of hands about and 
the Mill went on without a stop. This would not improve the 
ploughman’s temper. He had kept hanging about the yard, 
assailing Pate from time to time with demands for his fee ; 
Pate replied with gibes, blows followed, and the ploughman, 
no match for his heavy antagonist, came in for a hammering. 
He complained to the police and Pate was tried at Craig- 
kenneth Sheriff Court for assault. The mill-men and farm- 
hands — all interested in keeping well with the farmer — ^swore 
that the ploughman was the aggressor ; his master had only 
defended himself. The court took their story and acquitted 
Pate. Next, the man sued him in the civil court for the part 
of his fee — some £ 2 - — due on his leaving. Pate resisted the 
claim and raised a counter-action for £3 — the loss his servant 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 183 

had caused him by breaking his engagement. The sheri€ 
decided that, even though the farmer might have been un- 
reasonable in his fault-finding, that did not justify the plough- 
man, who had a six-months* engagement, in throwing up his 
place summarily. He must lose the £ 2 . In the second action 
the sheriff found that the farmer might easily have sustained 
loss from his servant’s conduct ; as it was, however, he had 
not suffered, and seeing he had received two weeks’ work from 
his man without pay he need get no further award. The 
ploughman was cast in expenses for both sides. 

It was a complete victory for Pate. No one could feel for 
the loser like me, for no one had suffered so much from the 
same tyrant. For a steady, capable workman to be affronted 
by a half-drunk ruffian would have fired the coldest blood. 
I grew keener yet for vengeance. Once I had my chance, I 
should be found more dangerous than the unlucky ploughman. 
And I knew my chance would come. The villain was reck- 
less, and I was so placed that I could watch him narrowly. 

A thing fell out not long after that won him no favour from 
the estate authorities. On the roadside, halfway between the 
Mailing and Parkend, stood a double cottage, the one half 
occupied by Pate’s married ploughman, the other by old 
Davie Anderson, who had once been cattleman on different 
farms in the neighbourhood and was still fit for odd jobs. 
His wife and he lived alone, and were understood to have a 
little money ; the family was married and away long ago. 
When Big Pate increased his dairy stock, old Anderson was 
employed in the byre till a second maid could be secured. 
One morning an under-keeper found him in a field near the 
Mailing with a big hare badly concealed beneath his coat. 
The keeper felt sure it had been snared, though the snare was 
not found. For old acquaintance’ sake — for I had known the 
couple in my Mailing days — I should have stopped the case 
had Big Pate asked the favour from myself or Meiklejohn, 
and I could have done this the more safely that the admiral 
was in the south. Pate did nothing ; we let the case go on 
and old Anderson was fined. He was kept on at the Mailing 
— a thing I was glad of, for I did not want him doubly 
punished ; still, the admiral would not feel beholden to Pate 
for harbouring a poacher. 


184 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XX 

M EIKLEJOHN had written the admiral that I was 
coming to London in May for a holiday, and could 
wait upon him and report of estate affairs. I had 
been in London once before with Meiklejohn ; it 
was another thing to be there with my sweetheart. And 
though she had often seen London on her way to and from 
Saxony, she confessed no visit had been so pleasant as this. 
The third day of my sojourn I had to lunch with the admiral. 
As usual, he was concerned about the pheasants and I could 
give him little satisfaction. Nisbet, the keeper, had told me 
that birds were scarce, especially in the coverts towards Lucas. 

“They’ll never get justice there," the admiral said in a 
tone of great vexation ; “no birds can thrive that are dis- 
turbed so much. It’s the more annoying because, if the path 
was done away with, there isn’t a preserve to beat it in the 
county." 

“ You should just close it, sir," I suggested. 

“ So I would, James, most readily, only it’s impossible." 
“ I don’t think so, sir," I represented ; “ the people that 
use it are people in the neighbourhood, Lucas folk mostly. 
They couldn’t oppose you, for they’re nearly all your own 
tenants or workers to your tenants." 

The admiral gave a hopeless smile. 

“ I know all that, James ; I’ve thought of all that a hundred 
times ; but in these Radical days the public make a great to-do 
about such a thing as the closing of a right-of-way." 

“You could give them something instead," I suggested. 

“ Build a reading-room or hall ? I should be most willing, 
James ; perfectly delighted." 

“ Or give them a piece of ground for football ? ’’ 

“ With the greatest pleasure, James. That’s a still better 
idea." 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


185 


“ Say that field of Auld's at the foot of the Lang Stracht. 
There’ll be a break in Auld’s lease next year, so it would only 
be a year’s compensation you would have to pay. He keeps 
it always in grass, at any rate ; the Lucas people walk over it 
50 much.” 

“ I would make them a present of it to-morrow if they 
would stop using the path. But how would you close it, James? ” 

” Just claim the path as private, sir, and offer them the 
football field at the same time.” 

” Well, James,” the admiral said seriously, ” it’s worth 
trying. I’ll incur some odium, but I’ll risk that. Lowiswill 
never be a place so long as the public can tramp through the 
finest corner.” 

” Then should we wait till the football field is ready for 
them ? ” 

The admiral reflected a little. 

” No,” he said with decision. ” Go ahead at once. You 
can let it be known that the field will be given them. If they 
behave themselves, they’ll have it all the sooner.” 

The Setons were very attentive to Mrs. Meiklejohn and her 
relatives, and one night we all had to visit the opera as their 
guests. The invitation was given for Nina’s pleasure espe- 
cially. Miss Maymie and her husband, who had not yet 
been in town that season, were expected now and would be 
at the opera ; indeed, the marchioness, so her parents assured 
us, was quite eager to see her old friends. I had often looked 
forward to meeting the marquis, whose face had interested, 
rather fascinated, me long ago. Before his marriage he had 
been much about Lowis ; but, though I was then in the office 
and saw him often, we were still strangers. Miss Maymie 
had made frequent stays at Lowis since ; her husband had 
not accompanied her once. This could not be owing to family 
differences, however, for the admiral and he were known to 
be intimate friends. On the opera night Admiral Seton came 
round for us in his motor. He was alone, and on the way 
he mentioned that his daughter and her husband had been 
detained in the country. Nina rallied me afterwards about 
the long face I pulled, and she laughed incredulously when I 
tried to assure her that it was only the marquis I had been 
anxious to see. 

When I reached home and gave Meiklejohn the instructions 
about the right-of-way, he shook his head. 


i86 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ It’s awful what lengths a notion will drive a man once it 
fills his head. It’s like the steam in a railway-engine. The 
folk do no damage to speak of, and there’s no question that 
to shut up the road will cause a lot of bad feeling ; it’ll make 
the admiral very unpopular.” 

“He’s prepared for that ; he said he was ready to 
incur any amount of odium for the sake of his dear 
pheasants.” 

“ Confound the pheasants ! And it’ll make us disliked as 
well.” 

“ What can we do ? ” I demanded. I was impatient to 
begin and I cared nothing for consequences. “ The admiral 
wants the road closed at once, and I suppose we’ve nothing 
for it but to carry out his wishes.” 

The factor walked about in uneasy reflection. 

“ I’ll write him,” he said at last, “ and let him see the 
trouble he’s bringing on himself.” 

“ That won’t have much effect, I doubt.” 

“ I’ll try to stave him off for the time anyway, and that’ll 
always give him a chance to reflect.” 

I heard Meiklejohn dictating the letter next morning, and 
he showed it me ere it was dispatched. He did not with- 
stand the admiral on the main point ; only he suggested delay. 
In the dead season the path might be closed and few would 
notice the change ; when next summer came round and 
the villagers thought of using it, they would find it 
harder to establish a right that had been in abeyance for 
months. 

Meiklejohn could handle his employer ; the reply came that 
we might wait till summer was past. 

So the path was left open for the time, though I believed it 
might have been closed with little opposition. It is almost 
impossible to overestimate a landowner’s power. Outsiders 
imagine it is curtailed in these democratic days ; I knew other- 
wise. The landowner has the farmers in his grip, and they 
are aware of it and grovel before him. Through them he 
controls the ploughmen. The villagers as well are in his hands ; 
they work for him or his tenants, they occupy houses owned 
by him or his dependants. Even the better-class residents, the 
doctor, the schoolmaster, the shopkeeper, dare not oppose 
the laird ; a word from him or his factor and their custom 
would be gone. More than that. I was yet to learn that his 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


187 

influence stretched far beyond his own lands. Meanwhile it 
was pleasant to rule as the laird's deputy, and since the 
admiral now lived so much in the south, Meiklejohn and I 
had this gratification for months at a time. 

Yet that all was not well was discovered to me by a trifling 
chance. My visits to Aletown were frequent that summer, 
for Nina was home. She talked of going back to Leipsic no 
more. Her parents were delighted, and showed by their 
increasing kindness that I was believed to be responsible for 
the welcome decision. Nina and I had certainly drawn very 
close, considering our short acquaintance and our rare meet- 
ings. Soon we called each other by our first names, even 
openly. A little longer and we found ourselves kissing, at 
first only when we met and parted, but soon at every chance. 
There was no talk of an engagement, no need of it even ; we 
both seemed to take it as natural that we should belong to 
one another. 

With her father I had grown very friendly. His solid 
character drew me and he appeared to like my company. In 
one way I must have made myself interesting to him. I knew 
his favourite author by this time almost as well as he did 
himself, and whole paragraphs from the idyllic Sartor or the 
lurid Revolution would burst from me spontaneously, and not 
always quite relevantly when we were together. The home 
was so pleasant, then, that I sought it more than ever, espe- 
cially when the sweet summer-time made the trip a pleasure 
in itself. On a soft mellow harvest evening I chanced to be 
crossing the ferry. Old Mitchell was so crippled with rheuma- 
tism that he could hardly put his leg over the gunwale. He 
had been consulting an Aletown doctor, but had got no relief 
and little cheer. 

“ Eh, Mr. Bryce," he said, half-laughing, half-groaning, 
" if anybody had told me once on a day that I would come 
to this, I would never have believed him." 

"It’s a good thing we don’t know what's before us," I 
remarked lightly ; " I suppose we wouldn’t face it." 

" Man, that’s something like an observation that Doctor 
Burdon made to me yesterday. Some friend of his had put 
a question to him, and he put it to me. He asked if I would 
be willing to live my life over again, supposing I had the 
offer. What would be your answer, Mr. Bryce ? " 

" Do you mean," I inquired, " should I be willing to live 


i88 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


it over again if I were allowed to start with all the knowledge 
and experience I have gained, so that I could avoid the troubles 
of the past and order my course differently ? ” 

The old man smiled. “ No, no. We would all be pre- 
pared to chance it on those conditions. The doctor meant, 
would I be willing to live my life over again just as I have 
lived it the first time, just going through everything I have 
gone through up to the present moment ? What do you say, 
Mr. Bryce ? ” 

“ Not on any account,'’ and in my earnestness I stayed 
the oars till the boat began to drift with the ebbing tide ; 
“ not for millions ; not though I were to get the whole world 
to-morrow.” 

” Ay, man,” and the old man was evidently interested ; 
” and yet you’ve had a prosperous career.” 

” Not for worlds,” I repeated ; ” not though the whole 
universe were promised me the next moment.” 

” I’m rather surprised ” old Mitchell began. 

” Well, what did you answer yourself ? ” I interrupted. 

“ I said. No.” 

” There, you see ! ” 

” Ay, but there's a vast difference between the two of us, 
Mr. Bryce. You have had a successful career so far, and 
you’re young still ; there’s no prophesying what you may 
attain to ; you may reach the highest pinnacle. But I’m 
old and done, with nothing to look forward to, and I’m as 
poor to-day as when I was your age.” 

I shook my head meaningly. ” We all have our troubles, 
and what may seem light to you may be unbearable to me, 
just as I might think little of your grievances. When I recall 
some half-hours in my past life, the dark things before me 
and no way out that I could see, I wouldn’t face it again, not 
for the universe.” 

” Ay, ay,” said old Mitchell ; ” man, I wouldn’t have 
expected that.” 

” What did the doctor say himself ? ” I inquired. 

” He said No, too.” 

” I thought so. And what did his friend say ? ” 

” He said No, like the rest of us.” 

I shook my head once more. 

” It strikes me that’s the common answer you’ll get.” 

The question haunted me as I walked up to the Bank 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 189 

House. It made me uncomfortable, though why I could 
not tell and did not wish to know. So disquieting was it 
that 1 tried to put it from my thoughts, and I did not 
mention it to Mr. Fleming, whom it would certainly have 
interested. 


190 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXI 

M rs. SETON and her elder daughter came north in 
August ; the admiral spent most of the season 
in Wiltshire and paid us only few and short 
visits. At every visit he mentioned the right-of- 
way, and at last gave orders that it should be closed ere the 
pheasant-shooting. 

“•Nothing else for it, James,” the factor reported with a 
deep sigh. “ He’s been set on this for twenty years\nd more, 
and I suppose nothing will stop him now. You can see about 
shutting it up, James, if you don’t mind ; I’ve no heart for 
it.” 

The task was anything but ungrateful to me. By the last 
week of September a board was up at either end of the path : 


PRIVATE. 

TRESPASSERS WILL 
BE PROSECUTED. 


A short paling was erected and liberally laced with barbed 
wire. 

“ It’s a mistake your people are making,” Mr. Ralston said 
one night I was down having a rubber with himself, his wife, 
and a lady-friend. 

“ Why do you think so ? ” I inquired. 

“ Because, to begin with, the admiral has no right to stop 
the road. It has been open for generations, and that he knows 
as well as anybody.” 

I laughed. “ All the easier, then, for the public to assert 
their right.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


191 

I don’t know that. The local people won’t venture to 
oppose him, they daren't ; and outsiders may not be interested 
enough. It’s unjust, all the same.” When I only smiled, he 
went on with more heat, ” I was up there last Sunday and was 
stopped by a barbed- wire fence. That was the first intimation 
I had that the right-of-way was interfered with. I didn’t 
like it. A road I’ve used almost every Sunday of my life ! ” 

” You know perfectly well, Mr. Ralston, the fence is not 
meant to stop the like of you. You’re welcome to stroll over 
the whole estate.” 

” That's well enough, but I don’t care to have as a privilege 
what is really a right.” 

” It’ll be to your advantage to have people kept away. 
There won’t be so many loafers strolling past on a Sunday 
and trespassing on your ” 

” They never did me any harm.” 

” I’ve seen them pulling your turnips and have checked 
them myself.” 

” That’s nothing,” and, nettled perhaps by my flippancy, 
he added in a determined tone, ” I wouldn’t have let it pass 
if my hands hadn’t been so full. The admiral may get his 
way, certainly, but it’ll do him no good in the countryside. 
The public feel such an encroachment, and don’t forget it in 
a hurry.” 

” They don’t appear to care a straw, Mr. Ralston. The 
fence has been up now for three weeks and you’re the first 
I’ve heard make a complaint.” 

It was only a few days later that the admiral came through 
for the first big shoot of the pheasant-season. He was de- 
lighted to know that his long-desired aim had been attained 
without trouble. 

There was a scarcity of beaters at the first shoot, and on the 
eve of the second, at two days’ interval, Dewar, one of the 
under-keepers, happening to meet me near Parkend, where I 
had been with a message after closing-time, mentioned that 
there might be the same inconvenience again. I was anxious 
that the day should be successful. The admiral was having 
a large party ; still more, I had been invited. As we stood 
on the road, casting about for names, the keeper said, 

” There’s old Anderson,” and he nodded in the direction of 
the cottage ; ” he’s doing nothing now.” 

” He would do first-rate.” 


jg2 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Yes,” and the keeper gave a laugh ; ” only he mightn’t 
come at my asking ; he’ll have a grudge about that hare.” 

” I had forgotten that. Well, if you see those others. I’ll 
arrange about Anderson. I may as well look him up just 
now when I’m passing anyway.” 

We parted, and I strolled along to the cottage. 

It was a fine mid-autumn evening, and the hush that 
accompanies the sunsetting was on all the countryside. At 
that season of my life the hour often brought a dowie 
feeling, in spite of my youth and vigour and fair prospects ; 
why, I did not ask, and perhaps could not have discovered. 
This evening, I remember, there was no melancholy in my 
mood ; I walked with springy step, thinking with eagerness 
and pride of the morrow’s sport. Soon I was at the cottage 
which old Anderson and his wife shared with the married 
ploughman of the Mailing. It stood bare to the road, with 
no fence or green in front, though at the back was a garden 
enclosed by a well-kept thorn-hedge, in one corner of which 
was a holly-tree trimmed pagoda-fashion. The Mailing 
ploughman had a swarm of young children, yet his home, like 
his neighbours’, was only a but-and-ben. As I recall it now, 
the place seems to me the barest and humblest of roadside 
dwellings ; in those days I gave it no heed, and certainly on 
this autumn night I was not likely to be sentimental over its 
poverty; my heart was full of my own joyous hopes and dreams. 
Ere I reached the house I noticed old Davie’s wife in the 
garden handling some towels that lay spread on the hedge ; 
she was gripping them to feel if they were dry. I stood at 
the end of the cottage and called to her, 

" You’re busy, Mrs. Anderson. Been a good day for your 
washing. Is Davie about ? ” 

” No, he’s not,” and she paused in her work. She was a 
tall, thin, delicate woman, well-spoken, reserved, and some- 
what superior to her class. 

“ Is he doing anything just now ? ” I asked. 

The woman responded as before and came forward. 

“ He would be free to-morrow, then ? ” 

“ For anything I know.” 

” Then you might tell him to come and beat for us. We 
start from the West Lodge at eight, so he’ll see to be there in 
good time.” I turned away, but stopped to repeat, ” You’ll 
mind: Mrs. Paterson’s lodge, at eight sharp. Of course,”! 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


193 


added, “ he’ll get the same as the rest — three-and-sixpence and 
a couple of rabbits, and he may come in for a day or two more 
later on.” 

” Just wait a minute, if you’re not in all the greater a hurry,” 
and the woman came out to the road where I was now stand- 
ing. ” So you want David to come at your beck, you that 
did your very best to disgrace him ? ” 

The words were so unlooked for that it was a little ere I 
could take them in. 

” You mean ” I began. 

” I mean, taking him into a court, him that has been a hard- 
working, well-doing man all his days, and getting him made a 
byword through the whole countryside, and all for a poor bit 
hare that anybody might have had for the lifting.” 

” That’s an old story now,” I said sharply, though I did 
not feel comfortable. 

“Not many months old, and if you have most forgotten it 
we ha vena. A man and his wife that have kept a clean name 
for sixty-five years ! They don't forget when anybody tries 
to blacken it.” 

“ But, Mrs. Anderson, your husband knew the consequences. 
Any other person would have been punished just the same.” 

“ Punished ! Do you mean to tell me the admiral would 
ever have punished him for a thing like that ? Fine we 
know whose doing it was. Never would my man have been 
disgraced if it hadn’t been for you, you upstart puppy.” 

The woman spoke sharply and determinedly, but did not 
shout as a vulgar person would have done. Her neighbours, 
who had looked out of their door, had dodged in again on 
seeing me, though their heads appeared at times at the v/indow. 
This I only saw as in a dream, for the fierce sudden onslaught 
had driven my wits away. 

“It’s true, true, what they say about beggars on horseback,” 
she went on. “ When the Big House folk took pity on ye, ye 
were lower than any beggar, and now ye’ll let nobody live 
but yourself. Folk darena walk on the very road ; ye must 
shut up a place that’s been free and open as long as the oldest 
can mind. We need nobody to tell us who’s at the bottom of 
those low tricks. There wasn’t a body on the estate fined 
for meddling with game since I hved on it, and only twice 
have strangers been punished that I mind of, and both times 
it was really because they abused the keepers. And as for 

o 


194 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


shutting up a road, neither the admiral nor his factor ever 
thought of it, though they’ve been here the best part of their 
days. But as soon as you get your foot in the stirrup ye drive 
decent folk out of your gate like vagabonds. But, mark my 
words : ye harass poor folk the now, but ye’ll just have your 
day, and few tears ’ll be shed when your day’s done.” 

” You’ve said quite enough,” I cried excitedly. ” Just 
stop or you’ll rue it.” 

” Ay, that means that ye’ll slink and crawl till ye get us 
turned out of our bit house. But we lived before we saw your 
face and we’ll maybe live to see your back. Every dog has 
its day. But, my certie ! I little thought to see you go this 
gate when ye were lifted from the dunghill. It’s not so long 
since ye were worse used than any dog, and many’s the time 
my man and me were wae for ye when we saw your white 
begrutten face and thought how ye were buffeted about ; 
but better would it be for you this day, twenty times, ay, a 
thousand times better, to be still that friendless, ill-used laddie 
than to be swaggering like my lord with your brown leggings 
and your riding-whip, and to be getting all this grandeur by 
grinding the faces of the poor.” 

I had recovered my senses enough to know that I was no 
match for the woman at words. I could see the faces of the 
ploughman’s family glued to the window and only ducking 
when my eye was turned full on them. No need to stand all 
this humiliation. Could I not walk off when I liked and leave 
the woman to rail into space ? 

” I have something else to do than listen to such talk,” 
I said contemptuously and I turned away. 

” Yes ; ye’ll have some dirty trick to play on other folks 
so as to scrape favour with them ye serve. Ye can go, but 
ye’ve got what I’ve been keeping for months to give ye. 
And though ye should be struck dead this night, it can ne’er 
be said that ye died without having your character read to 
your face.” 

Never in my life had I been so enraged. Fury had full 
possession of me. As I made my way home I saw nothing of 
the woods, the fields, even the birds. I was still looking at 
the woman’s pale set face and writhing under her merciless 
tongue. How she had contrived to distort my actions, to 
give a certain likeness to the hideous portrait she had drawn ! 
What downright lies were some of her charges, that about the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


1.95 

right-of-way for one ! The admiral had brooded over the 
thing for years, Meiklejohn had told me ; ay, the admiral had 
told me himself. 

In bed that night I woke after a few hours and the words 
began stabbing at my heart. I squirmed, wild but helpless. 
No more sleep, and when I got up I was nervous and shaky as 
after an illness. When out with the guns I missed everything 
I fired at. My right-hand neighbour, an officer from the 
castle, who had grassed every bird, showed his contempt by 
declining to exchange a word with me in passing between the 
coverts. 

Lunch was to be at the house. As we walked over, Nisbet, 
the head-keeper, got near enough to ask, 

“ Have you been duffing them, Mr. Bryce ? ” 

I answered with a gesture of despair. 

Anybody’s hand may be out at times,” said the keeper, 
who knew I was passable at a flying shot ; “a good stiff 
whisky ’ll steady you.” 

The men were taking their seats and remarks about the 
sport were flying when my neighbour from the castle growled 
out in a tone to command the attention of all, 

” If we had half the birds that were missed, we’d have some- 
thing like a bag.” 

The affront set my face afire, and the torture was that I 
durst not reply. However, after I had tried Nisbet’s specific 
more than once I felt a different man, and was on the lookout 
for another insult which even the admiral’s presence would 
not have kept me from resenting. But Captain Stirling was 
plying the decanter and grew more genial with every glass. 

Lunch over, we repaired to the Den. The sight of the 
barbed-wire fence, fresh and formidable, heartened me as 
much as the liquor. We lined the bank of Lowis water and 
faced the wood through which the beaters were slowly forcing 
a way. Nothing stirred but song-birds till they were nearly 
through ; then half a dozen pheasants rose almost together. 
As one came straight for me, I let bang, right, left, the whisky 
swimming in my head so that I fired without an aim. I was 
yards wide. My right-hand neighbour had not time to greet 
the failure even with a growl, for he had fired at his mark a 
second or two after me. To my surprise he had to give it 
both barrels ; to my greater surprise and, I must own, delight, 
he missed. The rest of the day it was a match between us 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


196 

which should fire the more wildly. Luck, sheer luck, gave me 
a hit or two ; the captain had not one. I found it was a 
common saying about him that he never missed a bird before 
lunch and never hit one after. 

Busy as I was with duty and pleasure, Mrs. Anderson’s 
words kept working in my mind like poison. I did not mean 
to punish her ; my vengeance would fall on another. Big 
Pate had no doubt blackened my conduct in that poaching 
affair ; besides, it was his blame that it went so far ; had he 
interceded for old Anderson, the case would have been stopped. 
I burned with impatience to glut my hate. The second 
evening after my encounter with Mrs. Anderson I strolled over 
to the Laigh Wood, for it had occurred to me that Big Pate, 
who was hanging some new gates, might be procuring his posts 
at the admiral’s expense. If so, they should be paid dear. 
There was the spot where he had nearly murdered me for letting 
the rabbit away. He should suffer yet for that and some more 
things. Through curiosity I searched for the place where he 
and Bob had sawn down the oak that afternoon. The stump 
was quite overgrown with turf, and no stranger could have 
guessed it was here. Sharply as I examined the planting I 
found no sign of recent depredation. This disappointed, yet 
flattered me. Pate was growing cautious. 

The admiral was to stay a fortnight, and every day was laid 
off for sport or some social function. Early in the second 
week, when the house was still crowded with guests, I was in 
the office one afternoon and heard a trap drive up. The 
admiral came in hurriedly and was making for Meiklejohn’s 
room without a word. 

“ Mr. Meiklejohn isn’t in, sir,” I called ; ” he’s down at 
Moss o’ Warnock, at the displenishing sale.” 

He stood perplexed. 

” Will he — you’ve no notion when he may be back ? ” 

” Not till evening, I should think, sir.” 

The admiral glanced at the two lads beside me, then he 
entered the inner office, beckoning me to follow. 

” It’s this I wanted to see him about. I’m afraid he’ll 
have to take the chair — in fact, he’ll have to take it — at the 
half-yearly meeting, for I can’t stay the week out.” His 
manner, usually so decided, was halting ; his face, too, showed 
he was agitated. ” Indeed, James,” he went on, “I’m leaving 
at once, this very evening.” I must have looked surprise. 


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197 


for he explained, “ I’m called away, James ; very startling 
news ; very serious,” and he drew from his side-pocket a 
telegram. 

I glanced at it. 

Come instantly. Edmund has died suddenly. — Maymie.’* 

"You don’t mean This doesn’t mean Lord — the 

Marquis of Soar ? ” I stammered. 

The admiral shook his head sorrowfully for confirmation. 

Neither of us spoke for a while. Then the admiral said, 

” He hasn’t been well lately, not well at all, though he was 
a man that wouldn’t have any fuss made about himself. But 
his state was far more serious than he can have thought. 
Indeed, I’m not surprised, James, at the end coming so sud- 
denly — not in the least surprised. I knew his — his illness was 
— was dangerous.” 

I got out some words of sympathy which, I daresay, he did 
not heed, for he went on, 

” So I must go at once ; my daughter will need me badly.” 

” She will indeed, sir. Do you intend travelling by the 
evening mail — about six ? ” 

” Yes, if I can manage it.” 

” Six-twelve it is,” I said, looking my pocket-diary. 

You’ll have time but no more. Have you wired, sir, to 
say you were coming ? ” 

“I’ve had time for nothing yet,” and he made a hopeless 
gesture. 

“ No, of course not, sir. Only they’ll be anxious.” 

“I’ll wire from Craigkenneth.” 

“ Yes. You’ll be sure to remember, sir. They’ll be so 
anxious ; the marchioness will be so anxious. Or wait. I 
could ’phone a message to the Lucas Post office just now and 
they’ll wire it on. Would that do, sir ? It would save you 
all bother at Craigkenneth. Besides, they would have word 
a little sooner.” 

“ Excellent, James ; the very best thing.” 

I went to the ’phone and gave the message. It was merely 
that the admiral was leaving with the mail. When he had 
heard it dispatched, he said, 

“I’ll start, then, and you’ll explain things to Meiklejohn. 
He’ll do all right for Thursday. Good-bye, James.” 

“ Perhaps you’ll find a minute to have a line sent to Mr. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


198 

Meiklejohn,” I suggested, as we stood at the outer door. 

We’ll all be anxious to hear how — how they are at the 
Manor.” 

” I'll do so, James ; ” and this time he put out his hand 
in bidding me good-bye. 

Returning to the inner office, I paced up and down in agitated 
thought. The marquis dead ! The man who had interested 
me so strangely from the moment I saw him first ! Dead, 
leaving everything, leaving his young wife ! Miss Maymie 
a widow ! What changes ! what changes ! My excitement 
would not let me stay indoors, so bidding the lads look to the 
office till closing-time I took my bicycle and rode off for Moss 
o' Warnock, a farm down the carse. The farmer had lately 
died, and his widow was selling the stock, crop, and imple- 
ments. For the first three miles the road was the familiar 
one to the ferry, but as I swished through mud and rotting 
leaves, my Aletown sweetheart was almost forgotten ; I was 
thinking of a former queen. The sale was over when I arrived, 
and buyers were removing their stuff and settling with the 
clerks. Meiklejohn was in the stackyard, the salesman beside 
him. The factor glanced at me apprehensively, but he was as 
much shocked as I had been when I called him aside and gave 
him the news. We put the bicycle in the dogcart and I sat 
by my friend talking with him mostly of the Thursday's 
business, the Supply Company’s meeting. Impatient as we 
both were for more news from Wiltshire, we knew me must 
wait. There would be something in next morning’s paper. 

It had a short paragraph, which gave only one item that 
was new to me : the heir-presumptive to the dukedom was 
a half-cousin of the late marquis. 

That same morning the lad from Lucas Schoohouse who did 
our letters brought some printed matter that interested us 
as much. It was a poster he had torn down from a gate near 
the village. Copies were going up, he told us, all over the 
district. 


” To THE Inhabitants of Lucas and 
Neighbourhood 

” Friends, 

” An attempt is being made to close the foot- 
path past the Den Wood, which has been a recog- 
nised right-of-way from time immemorial. If the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


199 


attempt is successful, it will no doubt be followed 
up by other encroachments. You are therefore 
earnestly requested to gather at the foot of the 
Lang Stracht on Saturday next at 2 p.m. and 
march to the Den Wood, where the obstacles will be 
demolished.'’ 

Johnny told us that a man Goodwin was understood to be 
the author of the handbill. This Goodwin lived in Lucas, 
but was clerk in a Craigkenneth office. He was a hot Radical, 
if not a Socialist. 

Neither Meiklejohn nor myself appeared on the Saturday. 
He was at Lord Soar’s funeral, and I knew I should not be 
welcome. Our friends were ready to furnish us with parti- 
culars. There was a great crowd, all the villagers and 
many outsiders. A brass band led the procession up the 
Stracht, playing inspiriting airs. At the plantation Goodwin 
harangued the crowd on land-grabbing and landlordism in 
general. He made some personal references which the Craig- 
kenneth paper reported in full : 

“ He (the speaker) regretted that they had to make a hostile 
demonstration at a time when Admiral Seton was suffering 
from a sudden bereavement. Indeed, he regretted that they 
were involved in a conflict with the admiral at all. The 
admiral had proved a good enough landlord as landlords went, 
and certainly in all the years he had been laird he had never 
tried to violate the rights of the public. But one of the 
greatest evils of the land-system was that the laird had to keep 
a dog (laughter) to do the barking (renewed laughter), 
and the dog often barked even after its master had ordered 
it to be quiet (cheers). In this case, however, he did not 
blame even the dog, for the dog had never barked at the public 
on an open path. But there was a puppy (great laughter 
and cheering), and this puppy, after snapping at everybody’s 
heels, had now taken up his post on the right-of-way and was 
yelping to frighten the public. He would let them see just 
now how such puppies should be dealt with. 

“ Thereupon,” continued the Advertiser, “ the speaker 
shouldered a formidable hatchet and, advancing to the ob- 
noxious barrier, dealt it some hearty strokes which severed 
the barbed wire. A band of willing helpers then flung them- 
selves on the stobs and, encouraged by the applauding shouts 


200 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


of the crowd, tore them up and flung them into the burn. 
The crowd then proceeded to the west end of the path, where 
the work of demolition was repeated. The Lucas constable 
and two other members of the county force were present, but 
did not interfere in any way.” 

Meiklejohn got the story when he came home the next 
week. He heard it with many a wise shake of the head, 
many a “ Yes, I said so,” ” I’m not surprised.” 

” They needn’t blame you, James,” he soothed me by 
saying, ” for the admiral’s had his heart set on this ever since 
I knew him. I wish it may not be the worst business we ever 
had to handle.” 

” We can’t drop it now,” I said. 

“ We’ll have to drop it — ^in the meantime, at least. The 
admiral has other things to think of, and I’ll take no respon- 
sibility in the affair.” 

Speaking of Lord Soar’s death, the factor told me that the 
young widow had borne the stroke bravely ; she had even been 
able to attend the funeral. No doubt, my friend explained, 
the death was not the surprise to her that it would be to 
strangers ; her husband had not been himself for a while. 
This was as far as Meiklejohn would venture, afraid, I suppose, 
that if rumours spread they might be fathered on him. But 
about a big house nothing can be hid. Ere long, dark stories 
were abroad, rising, most like, from letters that would come to 
Lowis maids from their friends in the south. The marquis, 
so it was whispered, had been peculiar for some time and had 
been closely watched. During the admiral’s absence he was 
found strangled. There had been no inquest, nothing to 
raise open scandal ; family interest had prevailed so far. It 
was added, and this was past doubt, that the Daventry house 
was tainted : the old duke had always been eccentric and was 
never visible now ; a younger brother of the marquis had had 
a suspicious end. I had an instinct that the tragic story 
about the young nobleman’s fate was true ; it explained 
something that had startled me the night I saw him first. 

If Meildejohn was reticent about Lord Soar’s death, he 
spoke freely enough of his affairs. Besides what was hers by 
the marriage settlement, her husband’s wealth came to the 
marchioness by will. The large property of Wiston Court in 
Hamptonshire, which had been at her husband’s disposal, 
now became hers. 


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201 


The Setons remained in the south that winter, though a 
staff of servants was kept at the house. Meiklejohn was often 
called away to advise the admiral about the Midland property, 
and I knew that amid these weighty matters our right-of-way 
dispute had no chance. My enemies paraded their triumph. 
Not a Sunday passed, even in winter, but groups tramped the 
path. I had not given up the fight, though I had to keep my 
tent for the time. Goodwin, I felt, was the dangerous man. 
The other villagers had merely looked on, though perhaps with 
sympathy ; the active helpers were youths from a distance, 
and these would lose interest in the affair if their leader were 
removed. But I saw no way of reaching him. The cottage 
Goodwin occupied was his own ; his employment was in the 
town, not on the estate. The admiral, when he found time, 
might start an action for interdict. This would be tedious and 
costly ; above all, it would renew the scandal. 


202 


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CHAPTER XXII 

O N a Friday in April — ^it was the last Friday of the 
month — I was in Craigkenneth for a round at golf. 
Sauntering up High Street I noticed a great crowd 
round the Steeple and I recollected it was the 
Feeing-Fair. There were the young ploughmen of the shire 
gathered beneath the Steeple that had looked down on 
generation after generation of their kind, met as they were 
to-day. Few girls were on the lookout for fees, though 
plenty were about the street on holiday. I watched the 
ploughmen with interest, and noted, as I had done many 
a time before, their wretched physique. They were mostly 
puny fellows, with neither height nor girth. The farmers, 
moving among them and occasionally pouncing on one, were 
like Tritons seizing minnows. Not many farmers were about, 
however ; it was on in the afternoon and most of the engage- 
ments would be made. The throng of ploughmen still left 
showed that the market had been glutted. As I stood watch- 
ing them and recalling some I used to be familiar with, a 
fellow of, say, eight-and-twenty, with fair hair and rather 
good features, caught my eye and looked as if I should have 
recognised him. I knew the face, but could not place it at 
the moment. Soon I recollected the man and nodded. He 
came forward and gave me the time of day, adding, 

“ Anything needed in my line, Mr. Bryce ? ” 

The man had been having a glass, else he might not have 
accosted me. Still, he was sober alongside his mates ; many 
of them could scarcely stand. 

I shook my head. 

“ Our hands are all stopping on. Where have you been 
since you left our parts ? " 

It was the ploughman who had lost the fight and the law- 
case to Big Pate. Liddell, I now recollected, was the name. 
He had been carting in Fallowkirk, he told me. The 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


203 

contractor was bankrupt, and he was trying to get back to 
farm-service. 

I thought you’d have got a fee easily," I said. " You’re 
a good all-round man.’’ 

" It’s that row at the Mailing that’s jammed me," he 
explained. 

"You mean that it has made the farmers have a feeling 
against you ? " 

" Ay. They don’t like a man that’s been in a row." 

" I’m sorry," I assured him, "for I know you must have 
had a lot to stand and the fault was certainly not all on your 
side." 

" By God ! ye may say that. If the folks only ken 1 

But then, they dinna. That has been nae freen o’ mine. 

And he’s nae freen o’ yours either, Mr. Bryce." 

" No ? " 

" No. I’ve heard him misca’ ye to the lowest." 

I winced, though I should have been prepared for this. 

" Oh, well," I said as carelessly as I could, " it may do him 
no good and it won’t hurt me." 

I was turning away, for I wanted to hear no more of those 
unpleasant truths, when a thought flashed on me. 

" By-the-by, Liddell, did Mackinlay act on the straight 
when you were with him ? He never took advantage of the 
laird in any way ? ’’ 

"You mean poaching ? " 

This was not my meaning. Still, as it might lead to some- 
thing, I left the fellow to his mistake. 

" I don’t know that I’ve seen him just poachin’. But he 
shot hares ; I’ve seen him." 

" He has the right, of course, and the admiral doesn’t 
object to his tenants using their right, so long as they do it in 
moderation." 

" Ay, but he hadna the licence." 

" The gun-licence, you mean ? " I asked. 

" Ay." 

" We have nothing to do with that. It’s the Excise." 

" I ken ; and I wad hae informed on him, only he’s ta’en 
oot the licence since." 

" How do you know ? ’’ 

" Because I looket the list." 

" Where ? " 


204 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


** In Lucas Post Office. I made an errand in just to mak’ 
sure that he hadna the licence afore I reported him, and dam 't 

if the 's name wasna the first my een lichted on. I 

thocht I was dreamini,” 

I had to smile, though not at the fellow’s bewilderment. 
I admired the hate that could inspire such ingenuity and pains. 

“ So you can’t reach him that way ? ” I asked. 

It seems no. But I’ll be even wi’ him yet if me and him 
lives long enough.” 

” Well,” I said, “I’m sorry you haven’t got a fee. If ever 
you need anybody to speak for you. I'll be very glad if you 
refer to me ; ” and I strolled away. 

It was not long till I had a chance of helping him. The first 
thing Miss Maymie did on coming into the Hamptonshire 
property was to dismiss the land-steward. His offence I 
never learned : I inferred it was some old slight. The news 
came to me one morning through Meiklejohn, who was 
perusing a letter he had received from the admiral. 

” He wants me to find a steward for her ladyship. Can 
you suggest anyone, James ? ” - 

I had no thought of the post for myself. Both Meiklejohn 
and the admiral considered me indispensable at Lowis. 

” No,” I answered, ” unless Bob is tired of farming and cares 
to try it.” 

Meiklejohn made a face. ” Nice enough fellow. Bob ; but 
rather easy for such a place. And there’s another thing, 
James : the terms are a little peculiar. ‘ The marchioness 
means,’ ” he went on, reading from the admiral’s letter, 
” ‘ that he,’ the steward, James, ‘ shall consult you on all 
important matters and act on your advice.’ ” 

“ That means that he’s to be under you ? ” 

” Something like that, I gather.” 

” In fact, that you’re to have charge of Wiston Court very 
much as you have of Lowis.” 

” Well, James,” said my friend demurely, ” it’s not ex- 
pressly stated, but I daresay it amounts to that.” 

” You’re going ahead,” I said laughing. ” No sign of the 
arm-chair for you yet.” 

He was gratified, I could see, at the new dignity and I 
understood the feeling. Here was more honour, more in- 
fluence, above all, fresh proof of confidence from those he had 
served so long. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


205 


“ She doesn't mean that Fm to work for nothing/’ he 
remarked in a little, “ or indeed any of us,” and he returned 
to the letter : ” ‘ My daughter will see that you and your 
staff don’t suffer by the extra work this will entail.’ ” 

” That’s all right,” I said, though I admitted that Bob, 
even if he thought of returning to factor-work, might not care 
for the place on the terms. 

Meiklejohn did not hurry to make the appointment. He 
knew that only a rare man would work to satisfaction with 
him in such a delicate relationship. Meanwhile he had to 
run south every other week, and he began to grumble. 

After one of those runs he asked if I could suggest anyone 
as estate-carter for the Court. The last one was disabled with 
a serious accident, and Meiklejohn thought we had better fill 
his place with a man we knew. Liddell’s name came to my 
tongue-tip, but I kept it back. To send Liddell south was to 
remove him from Big Pate’s neighbourhood and rob myself 
of an ally. So I let the factor find a man for himself. 

The admiral’s long absence left Meiklejohn and myself 
uncontrolled rulers. That we did not neglect our employer’s 
interests I will now show. Goodwin, the people’s champion 
in the right-of-way dispute, was before the public once more ; 
a Parish Council Election was on and he was standing. In 
the Craigkenneth paper I noticed him put down as cashier 
with Laing and Co., a firm of builders. 

” That’s a mistake, isn’t it ? ” I asked, showing the paper 
to Johnny. ” He's with Denovan ? ” 

” He used to be ; but he got this place at Laing’s the other 
week.” 

The news set my wits working and I had soon shaped my 
plans. Meiklejohn sanctioned them on the understanding 
that I should act as for myself. 

The first day I was in Craigkenneth I went to the Royal 
Hotel and sent Laing a message by a hotel servant. The 
messenger was not to give my name. Had I called at the 
office Goodwin might have observed me, and in the light of 
after-events might have read my secret. 

Laing soon appeared and, on finding that it was I who 
had summoned him, looked expectant, as if scenting 
orders. 

When we had talked a little on the dulness of the building 
trade I introduced my business. 


2o6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ What I wanted to see you about, Mr. Laing, is this. The 
sandpit at Borland will soon be worked out.’* 

This sandpit was on the verge of Lowis estate next Craig- 
kenneth. Laing used the sand for building. 

“ Yes,” Laing said ; “ we’re nearly at the hedge.” 

” So I noticed. And what do you mean to do ? ” 

He looked at me in surprise. ” Continue it into the next 
field.” 

” But have you leave to continue it into the next field ? 
So far as I’m aware, your leave only applies to the field 
you’re in.” 

” Undoubtedly, Mr. Bryce. But it was always understood 
that we should have leave to work the sand right on. Why, 
it would jam us entirely. There’s no other place near the 
town.” 

” We can’t help that.” 

” I don’t understand this, Mr. Bryce. We never for a 
moment thought the admiral would cut the feet from us. I 
suppose there’s somebody else trying to shove us out. I 
must say ” 

You’re quite mistaken. We haven’t thought of anybody 
else.” 

“You might let me know, then, what’s the matter.” As 
I was in no hurry to speak, he went on, “ If it’s a question of 
the royalty, well, we’ve been giving the usual figure, just 
what’s given in other places round about.” 

“ It’s not that at all.” 

“ Well, you might tell me what it is, Mr. Bryce. Upon my 
word, I haven’t the least notion.” 

“ Well, Mr. Laing,” I said, “ you can hardly expect the 
admiral to go out of his way to oblige you. It looks as if you 
didn’t care much for his interests.” 

“ How’s that ? ” he asked in surprise. 

Because you have men in your employ, in important 
posts, too, who are doing their best to injure him.” 

“ I don’t know them, Mr. Bryce.” 

“ Do you mean to say you haven’t heard of the Den right- 
of-way dispute ? ” 

He reflected a little. “ I do remember seeing something 
about a dispute out your way. That’s some months ago, 
isn’t it ? ” 

I nodded. 


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207 


“ But what has that to do with me or my hands ? " 

“ It has this much to do with them, Mr. Laing. The ring- 
leader is in your office, has been for some weeks.’* 

“You don’t mean Goodwin ? ” 

I nodded again. 

“ Upon my word, Mr. Bryce, I knew nothing about it ; or 
rather, I never thought about it, for I do recollect now seeing 
Goodwin’s name in connection with the affair. But you 
should remember this, Mr. Bryce : he wasn’t in our place 
then ; he was clerk with Denovan.” 

“ I know, and it looks as if you had promoted him by way 
of rewarding him.” 

“ Look here, Mr. Bryce. Though this should be the last 
word I may ever speak, I assure you it never once occurred to 
me that Goodwin had taken part in the dispute. And I’ll soon 
satisfy you that I don’t want him to bother your people. 
I’ll sack him this very day ; by Jings ! I’ll sack him this 
very minute ; ” and he got to his feet. 

“ I don’t want him sacked ; ” and I pointed to the chair the 
builder had left. When he had sat down again I added, 
“ Only he’ll have to stop bothering us.” 

“ He’U never trouble you more, take my word. If he does, 
he clears out of this sharp. Of course. I’ll take care not to 
bring your name in or the admiral’s name ; I’ll put some other 
excuse on to him.” 

“ Just as you like.” 

“ By-the-by, Mr. Bryce,” the builder said as he was bidding 
me good-day, “ Goodwin’s standing for the Parish Council 
or something of that sort. I’ll stop that if you say the word. 
Mind you, I was quite willing that he should stand, for, 
between ourselves, Mr. Bryce, he might have a chance of 
putting work my way. But just say the word and he with- 
draws or else clears out of this.” 

“ Not at all. He may be on fifty councils for all I care, so 
long as he doesn’t bother us.” 

The next forenoon Laing ’phoned me that he had spoken, 
and after a night’s reflection our friend had given an under- 
taking to keep his mouth shut. 

So I had a proof that the landowner has a long arm and can 
reach far beyond his own domains. The town shopkeepers, 
tradesmen, even professional men, need his custom or his 
patronage. I should say, indeed, that never in history has 


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THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


his power been greater than it is now, and, except in large 
cities where the individual is lost in the crowd, the man who 
would defy him must take his life in his hands. Goodwin 
had more than himself to think of : he had a wife and children. 
I felt pretty sure, after my talk with his employer, that he 
would give the required undertaking and would observe it. 

As soon as Laing’s message arrived, I gave orders to have 
the stobs and barbed wire restored. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


209 


CHAPTER XXIII 


M EIKLEJOHN was so often at Wiston Court that 
he tried to spare himself when at home. 

“ You’ll have to see to that, James,” he said 
one morning as we went through the letters. 
Some rows of houses were going up at Claygate and a new 
road was necessary. This was a complaint from the neigh- 
bouring farmer that the road, as staked off, deviated from 
the plan and encroached too far on his field. I started before 
noon and travelled by the south line through the Black 
Country of Clydesdale. At the junction where I changed I 
had lunch in a commercial hotel, then made the rest of the 
journey by a little branch line that terminated at Claygate. 
It was near three when I landed. 

This was my first visit. The country was high, bare moor- 
land, mostly reclaimed and fed down with hill cattle, though 
the hollows were still mere peat-hags growing nothing but 
ragged heather. The wealth was below ground. 

Close to the station were great ranges of works, all brick- 
built. The black smoke eddying from the stacks told of brisk 
trade. I entered the pretentious offices, and on asking for 
Mr. Lyon, the principal of the company, I was shown into a 
large comfortable room where that gentleman was walking 
about and dictating a letter to his girl-typist. I had occa- 
sionally met him at Lowis and he welcomed me effusively. 
Mr. Lyon was a tall, robust man of, say, sixty-five, with grey 
hair and a short, thick beard almost white. He bubbled over 
with energy ; his tongue and his limbs were never still. 
Diligent in business, he had interests of another kind : he 
went about the country addressing religious and temperance 
meetings ; he gave money freely to build halls and pay 
evangelists. 

You’re in no hurry back ? You’ll stay the night ? ” he 

p 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Sio 

asked, when I had explained my errand and answered his 
friendly inquiries about the admiral. 

I was not sure, I told him ; it would depend on how I got 
through my work. We were busy at Lowis just now. 

Mr. Lyon went to the door and called “ William.” One 
of the clerks in the outer office rose. Mr. Lyon introduced 
us, and told me Mr. Rankin would show me the place there 
was the dispute over. The clerk, who might be a year or 
two older than myself, was a smart pleasant-looking fellow, 
pale, with sharp regular features, black eyes, and a neat black 
moustache. We set out together. 

We passed a long range of kilns, some of them open and 
showing the glow of the furnaces. Then we went round the 
end of the railway siding. Young women, clad in petticoats 
with a wrapper or old jacket for upper garment, were packing 
trucks and exchanging obscene jokes with passing miners. 
On some outbuildings were a few small flags. 

” What are the flags for ? ” I asked my companion. 

” They were put up for Mr. Lyon’s wedding and haven’t 
got taken down yet.” 

I recollected that Mr. Lyon had married for the second time 
some months before. We passed a joke or two, as young 
folk will when their elders make fools of themselves, and soon 
we were chatting freely. Indeed, my new friend proved a 
frank communicative guide. 

Beyond the works were the workers’ dwellings. I had 
never seen their like. Except two church-like buildings and 
two schools, they were three-story brick blocks, exactly alike 
in form and size, and marked “ Section I.,” Section II.” and 
so on. The place might have been an asylum or soldiers’ 
barracks. No gardens were to be seen, though we came on 
small open spaces with iron standards here and there. These 
were washing-greens. 

” It’s a queer-looking place,” I observed to the clerk, and 
I remarked on its barrack-like aspect. 

” Yes,” he assented with a smile ; “it’s hardly one’s notion 
of a model village.” 

The houses were wonderfully quiet and as yet we had 
scarcely seen an inmate. I commented on this. 

Mr. Rankin explained that the daughters of the homes, 
and often the mothers as well, were employed as packers. 
The children were at school. He went on to say that the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


2II 


company encouraged families with grown-up daughters ; 
the whole family could be employed. 

I had heard something of this before. Thinking from the 
young fellow’s tone that there would be no risk in speaking 
frankly, I remarked, 

“ They are good enough to say the company gets labour 
cheaper in that way.” 

“So it does. When half a dozen in a house are at work 
and get home at night, they can afford to take a lower wage 
apiece than if only one or two were employed, or if even the 
same number were employed but were at a distance from their 
home and had to pay lodgings.” 

“ Still,” I observed, replying to something in his tone more 
than his words, “ it gives work to people.” 

“No doubt. Though whether that’s the motive is another 
question. If employers could get their work done by 
inanimate machines, they would use nothing else.” 

“ Then you don’t admire Captains of Industry, as Carlyle 
calls them.” 

“ Carlyle ! ” said the young fellow contemptuously ; 
“ nobody minds Carlyle nowadays. The world is a thousand 
years ahead of Carlyle.” 

“ Oh I some people believe in Carlyle yet.” 

“ Fossils they must be. What positive teaching did Carlyle 
ever give ? What did he advise in order to make the social 
state better ? Nothing. He raved away about working, 
about doing with our might whatever our hand found to do. 
What rot ! Why, we’re doing too much ; it would be better 
if people weren’t so diligent. It’s not the production that’s 
at fault, it’s the distribution. And what did Carlyle offer 
as a remedy for that ? Nothing. He hadn’t a word to say.” 

“ Oh yes. He said this ; he always insisted that society 
could never be held together by pounds, shillings and pence ; 
it must be by sentiment, by mutual good-feeling,” I answered, 
repeating what I had often heard from Mr. Fleming. 

“ Yes,” the young man sniffed ; “ people were to have 
kindly feelings to each other and at the same time their posi- 
tion was to remain unaltered. An employer and his work- 
people are to entertain fine sentiments towards each other 
while the employer continues to draw twenty thousand a year 
from his establishment and his workers fifty or sixty pounds 
apiece. A landowner and his agricultural labourers are to 


212 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


have mutual good-feeling and the landowner is to go on draw- 
ing tens, perhaps hundreds, of thousands from the land that 
the labourers cultivate for eighteen shillings a week. It’s 
a doctrine that may suit the landlord and the capitalist, but 
it’ll hardly go down with the workers.” 

By this we were at the verge of the country. Nothing was 
said for a while. I saw that the young clerk, with his fluent 
speech and his clean-cut phrases, was more than my match 
at argument. It was my first experience of the kind and I 
did not like it. So I found it a relief to attend to the business 
that had brought me to Claygate. I got out my tape, and 
with the clerk’s assistance I measured the projected road 
at different points. When I had made my notes we turned 
towards the village. 

My thoughts had been excited with the discussion and I 
now resumed it. 

” It’s easy to find fault with people who have suggested im- 
provements on our present system, but it’s not so easy to propose 
a remedy that won’t be open to as great or greater objections.” 

“It’s easy enough.” 

” How ? ” 

” Let the people own the land and every kind of property 
themselves. That’s the only remedy.” 

” That’s Socialism,” I said. 

” Well, Socialism is the one remedy.” 

I shook my head. ” I don’t know that it would work.” 

” What’s to hinder it ? ” 

Never having studied Socialism I did not care to venture a 
reply, especially as I had a sharp critic to deal with. So I 
said nothing. My companion went on : 

” Take the village. People would continue to make every- 
thing that’s made here — bricks and sewage-pipes — although 
the land and the works belonged to them instead of to Admiral 
Set on and Mr. Lyon and a handful of shareholders. The 
difference would be that they would get the profit of their 
labour and would be able to live much more comfortably than 
at present, and to work more comfortably too. They wouldn’t 
live in those barracks, you may be sure : they would have nice 
roomy cottages, with gardens and recreation grounds. They 
would work shorter hours, too, and have more holidays, and 
would have all possible contrivances to make their work light 
and pleasant.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


213 


Once more I felt my weakness in debate and I was glad to 
escape with a harmless remark : 

“ Certainly they might have more cheerful houses, anyway. 
That’ll be Mr. Lyon’s house ? ” I added, nodding towards a 
large brick villa standing by itself near the fields. 

“ No, no ; that’s the manager’s. Mr. Lyon has a fine 
mansion in the direction we were just now. He owns a small 
estate there and has made it a little paradise. You’ll see it 
if you spend the night with him.” 

Mr. Lyon was still at the office. He had waited past his 
usual time to get my company, and his motor was standing 
ready. I excused myself. I had recollected some business 
that would have to be seen to first thing next morning. The 
truth was, I was depressed by the neighbourhood and wanted 
away. 

The first time I was over at Nina’s I told her father how I 
had heard Carlyle criticised, though I did not say who was 
the critic. 

“ Your friend was hardly fair to Carlyle,” said the banker. 
“ Carlyle saw clearly enough that our system of distribution 
was very defective. You remember where he points out that 
the Manchester operatives turn out so many million cotton 
shirts in the shortest of time, yet have hardly a shirt to their 
backs themselves.” 

“So he does. But how does he propose to remedy this ? 
Has he any better system of distribution to suggest ? ” 

“ I don’t know that he has,” the banker replied in his slow 
way. “ Indeed, he would hardly consider that his business. 
Carlyle was an inspiring force ; he directed men’s attention 
to wrongs and tried to give them his own burning desire to 
put them right. But he did not suggest remedies ; I don’t 
know that he had remedies to suggest. His idea would be 
that once people were roused they would find remedies for 
themselves.” 

The defence, while it perhaps represented the truth about 
Carlyle, exposed a fatal weakness. 

“ I have been looking through his writings these last few 
days,” I said, “ with the object of seeing if he has any definite 
and positive teaching, and I can find very little. The only 
thing, indeed, I could give that name to is a passage in Past 
and Present on the duty of rewarding every man according 
to his deserts. You know the passage well.” 


214 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Fair day's- wages for fair day's- work. Thrones to this 
man, prisons to that.” 

” That's it ; ” and taking down the book I read : ” ' The 
progress of Human Society consists even in this same. The 
better and better apportioning of wages to work. Give me 
this, you have given me all. Pay to every man accurately 
what he has worked for, what he has earned and done and 
deserved, — to this man broad lands and honours, to that man 
high gibbets and treadmills : what more have I to ask ? ' 
Now,” I said, ” that’s very fine, but when you look into it it 
seems to melt away. How are you to judge of desert ? Carlyle 
himself saw the difficulty : ‘ Fair day’s-wages for fair day’s- 
work ! exclaims a sarcastic man : alas, in what corner of this 
planet, since Adam first awoke on it, was that ever realised ? 

. . . The regular way is to hang, kill, crucify your gods, 

and execrate and trample them under your stupid hoofs for 
a century or two ; till you discover that they are gods, — and 
then take to braying over them, still in a very long-eared 
manner ! So speaks the sarcastic man ; in his wild way, 
very mournful truths.* But I doubt if he saw it fully. For 
one thing, the difference between people, between the good and 
the bad, is very largely the result of circumstances. He 
admits this himself somewhere.” 

” * Nevertheless, I too acknowledge the all-but omnipotence 
of early nurture and culture,' ” quoted the banker. ” Of course,” 
he added, ” he’s speaking rather of differences of intellect, 
the difference betwen the genius and the dunce. Still, I 
suppose he would have admitted that circumstances had as 
much to do with making men good or bad.” 

” Well, then. If a man who has had a good chance does well 
and another who has had a bad chance does ill, it seems hardly 
fair to reward the one with honours and punish the other with 
gibbets. Had the conditions been reversed, the ill-doer might 
have turned out a respectable man and the other a scoundrel.” 

” That’s true enough,” Mr. Fleming acknowledged. 

” And here’s a still greater difficulty in Carlyle’s principle,” 
I went on, for I could talk fluently to the banker, who was a 
slow speaker and a good listener ; besides, I had been re- 
flecting on the question in the last few days : ” Who is to 
award the honours and gibbets ? ” 

” The rulers, no doubt,” said Mr. Fleming. ” Carlyle 
contemplated that the wisest and best should rule.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


215 

Precisely. And that the community should choose the 
wisest and best for their rulers. But to recognise the wisest 
and best the people must be wise and good themselves, and 
people who are wise and good don’t need rewards and punish- 
ments.” 

* There’s a good deal in that,” the banker admitted again, 
“ and it’s an old objection, I believe. After all,” he con- 
tinued deliberatively, “ Carlyle wanted people to put things 
right. He didn’t show them how ; that wasn’t his business. 
He would have said. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. His 
business was to give the will.” 

Interesting as such talks were to me there was a stronger 
charm that drew me to the banker’s house. Nina and I were 
only happy in each other’s company, and we were planning 
how we might always be together. I was, at least, and she 
would let slip an odd remark that showed her thoughts were 
working on the same problem. Family life was growing 
attractive to me, for my work was not so satisfying as it had 
been. I lived in an atmosphere of ill-will ; the farmers, the 
villagers, disliked me, and I could no longer fence myself with 
jaunty defiance. The change had begun in me, I think, with 
that visit to Claygate ; certainly it dated from that. To 
comfort and fortify myself I would reflect that other men had 
unpleasant things to bear, no matter what their calling was. A 
greater comfort was to look forward to a “ bower of bliss ” 
where no troubles would intrude. When I married Nina I 
would keep my home-fife and my factor-work well apart. 
As soon as I came into my smart little home of an evening, 
I would leave behind me all the day’s worries, and in talking 
with my stately bride, in listening to her melting songs, I 
would know perfect joy. 

My prospects warranted those dreams. The admiral 
would help me, I knew, to a settlement. He was satisfied 
with my general services and my conduct of the right-of-way 
dispute had given him positive delight. He was staying more 
at Lowis again, and I have heard him declare that he took a 
new pleasure in his home now that his favourite cover was 
safe from stragglers. And the episode seemed to have made 
him more popular. The village youths were overjoyed with 
the gift of the football field, and any odium that had been 
occasioned by the dispute attached to others than the admiral. 

His one aim achieved, the admiral began to press to the 


2I6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


other, and here I could not support him with the same heart. 
That little property of Ralston’s I If only it were absorbed 
in Lowis, the admiral would have peace. Unluckily for me, 
the factor was fully with him here. While quite friendly 
with its owner, Meiklejohn felt that till Cambuslochan changed 
hands the Lowis authorities had a genuine grievance. 

Our lawyers in Craigkenneth had made formal offers for 
the place and had been snubbed. Meiklejohn now urged me 
to act. 

“ He’ll be more ready to listen to you, James,” he would 
say. Or again, ” Now’s the time to try him, James. Money 
will be welcome to him at this moment.” 

While careful to hide my real feelings, I would object. 

” The offer should come from you. He would see that you 
meant business.” 

Then the factor would represent to me that Ralston trusted 
me and knew I would propose nothing but what was for his 
good ; that we were ready to give more than the place was 
worth and far more than it would fetch in the open market, 
and that the sale would really be for Ralston’s benefit. 

” Suggest the thing in an off-hand way when you’re down 
some evening,” he kept saying. 

At last he grew so urgent, assuring me it was now or never, 
that I had to yield. Still, I could not make the proposal 
under my friend’s roof. Ralston and his young wife had been 
so kind, wee Bab and Harriet had grown so fond of me and I 
of them, that I could not play the Judas outright. But in 
Craigkenneth Mart one day, while talking with Mr. Ralston 
on other things, I remarked, 

” Sawers’s people haven’t been writing you about Cambus- 
lochan lately ? ” 

“You mean, offering for it ? ” 

I nodded. 

“ No,” said my friend, “ not lately.” 

“ The admiral would give you a big price for it, Mr. Ralston.” 

“ I daresay,” he said with a smile. 

“ He’d go as high as four thousand pounds.” 

“ It’s not in the market, James ; ” and his look was almost 
a frown. 

“ That’s final ?” 

“ Final.” 

And with this answer I returned to the factor. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


217 


I knew better than any outsider that money would be 
welcome to my friend. He had told me a while before that 
trouble was brewing over his load-adjuster. It had been fully 
patented, and Mr. Ralston had spent a good deal of money, 
raised, I afterwards learned, on mortgage, in bringing it before 
the public. Now, a London company was booming an 
appliance manifestly copied from his, and if his invention 
was to make him any return he would have to sue the 
rogues for infringement of patent. The dispute had not yet 
got into the papers and I had never breathed it to Meiklejohn, 
indeed to anybody. So I could not tell how the factor came 
to know of it or even if it was this he had hinted at. 

Between my friendship for the Ralstons and my duty to the 
admiral I was likely to be in a predicament. My safe course 
was to keep away from Cambuslochan, dear as the place had 
grown. I did not visit it for some weeks, and it was from a 
conversation between the admiral and his factor that I learned 
the next move in the game. Mr. Ralston was trying to raise 
a second mortgage on his farm. The factor knew in this way. 
Ralston’s solicitors had assured their client they would do 
their utmost to find the money ; instead, they communicated 
his difficulties to Meiklejohn. They knew, of course, that the 
Lowis authorities had long coveted their neighbour’s place, 
and their motive in betraying their client was, I infer, to gain 
the admiral’s support for the County Clerkship which was soon 
to be vacant. 

“Now would be the time to fight him about the ditch," 
Meiklejohn suggested. 

“ If he has the pluck to fight," the admiral questioned. 

“ Oh, he’s stubborn enough." 

The factor did not discuss the affair with me. I had let 
him know that I was not visiting the Ralstons, and he may 
have concluded that my interference had occasioned a cold- 
ness between us. To be in the dark while danger threatened 
my friends was unbearable. I called one evening and gave 
extra work as excuse for my long absence. Had I been a 
brother returning after years of exile, my welcome could not 
have been heartier. The Ralstons knew about Nina and they 
had been afraid, they said, that the attractions of Aletown 
were making me neglect old friends. 

When his wife was putting the children to bed, I asked Mr. 
Ralston abruptly, for I could not afford to lose the chance. 


2I8 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Are you having any bother over the Knowefield ditch ? 

He looked at me steadily some seconds. 

“ Yes, James ; I am having bother, very serious bother, too." 

I have no information," I assured him, " none whatever. 
Only I had a suspicion there might be trouble over it ere long." 

"Ill show you ; " and he left the room for a letter. " The 
ditch, as you know, James," he said on returning, " is choked 
up and can’t carry away heavy rain. The result is that the 
water overflows into the Well park and is cutting a regular 
channel down the side. I advised Meiklejohn of this three 
times. When he took no action, I wrote him that I would 
clear the ditch out myself. Here’s a letter from Sawers." 

The admiral’s agents threatened Mr. Ralston with proceed- 
ings should he interfere with the ditch. 

"You observe," my friend pointed out, " they say nothing 
about the admiral having it cleaned." 

“ What do you think of doing ? ’’ I asked. 

" Just what I told them : give them so many days to have 
the ditch put right and, if they take no action, put it right 
myself." 

" And involve yourself in a lawsuit ? " 

" Possibly." 

" About a dirty ditch ? ’’ 

" It’s not a trifle. The overflow damages my park and 
it’ll get worse instead of better." 

" Will it be as costly as a lawsuit ? ’’ 

" But I’ve right on my side. Anybody knows I’m only 
asking what’s reasonable." 

" That’s not the question, Mr. Ralston, when one goes to 
law. It’s not, who has right on his side ? but, who has the 
longest purse ? ’’ 

Mr. Ralston bit his lip. " I’m aware of that, James, and 
I’ve known my purse better filled than it is at this moment. All 
the same. I’ll make a struggle for my rights. It’s not the ditch 
affair alone ; the question is really coming to be. Are other 
people not to be allowed to live near the Lowis gentry ? They’re 
making one encroachment after another, and soon it’ll be 
that nobody will be able to live in the countryside but them- 
selves." 

" Never mind other people, Mr. Ralston ; it's yourself 
you have to look to. No use going into a fight when you’re 
not ready." 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


219 


Then Fm to stand by and see my park ruined ? 

I never said so.” 

” What, then ? ” 

** Fm surprised that a noted inventor needs to get a tip 
from a novice. Why not bank up your hedge at the place 
where the ditch overflows ? That would drive the water across 
the road into the field opposite, which,” I added with a laugh, 
” doesn’t belong to you,” 

Mr. Ralston scratched his head and reflected. His wife, who 
had returned to the parlour some time before, sat watching 
his face. 

” The fact is,” he said at last, “ I never thought of that.” 

” Well ? ” 

” It’s worth trying ; ” and he gave a laugh. 

After some talk he consented to try my plan, and he then 
spoke of the trouble arising over his patent. He had arranged 
to bring an action against the company that was trading on 
his invention, and, as the company appeared to have capital, 
the suit might be tedious and costly. 

A few days later the case was mentioned in the papers, and 
I heard Meiklejohn and the admiral lament that their neigh- 
bour had given way in the local dispute. 

” He’s not prepared to die in the last ditch,” said the 
admiral with rather a grim smile. 


220 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXIV 

T O one person only could I speak freely on this trouble. 

Nina, though she had not met the Ralstons, liked 
them because they had been kind to me, and every 
time I visited Aletown she asked about their affairs. 
The next news I gave her was that Mr. Ralston was finding 
it difficult to raise his second mortgage. I told her how I came 
to know. 

“ McKerracher's people are giving him away. They played 
with him a while, pretending to be looking about for the money, 
and they advised him to have his farm valued, so that any 
client who thought of advancing the money might know he 
had good security. Mr. Ralston agreed. Then the Mc- 
Kerrachers suggest a valuator, the factor at Shirgarvie. 
They give him a hint and he undervalues the place shame- 
fully, puts it down at £2,500 as an arable farm and £3,000 as a 
dairy place. It’s worth half as much again at the very least. 
But you see the trick, dear ? There’s a bond of £1,200 on the 
farm already, and nobody will advance a second mortgage of 
£1,500 on a property that’s only worth £2,500, for it’s an 
understood thing that a place should never be bonded to more 
than two-thirds of its value.” 

Nina warmly declared it was a shame. 

“Yes, and it troubles me very much,” I told her. “ I 
know of the plotting that goes on and yet I’m helpless.” 

“ Still, you have nothing to do with it, Jim. You’re not 
plotting against him.” 

“ Certainly not. But I feel very much to have to listen 
to it all and be able to say and do nothing.” 

“You did something about the ditch,” Nina reminded me, 
and we both laughed over the trick. But I soon grew sober 
again. “ What would you do, Nina, if a friend of yours was 
being led into a trap ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


221 


She looked perplexed. “ I suppose/' she said at last, “ I 
should just do as you are doing, Jim — say nothing, but at the 
same time take no part in it. If the admiral and — and other 
people do such things, that’s their business. I suppose it’s 
your duty to keep quiet, though I know it must be very 
hard.” 

” It is. I often wish my ears were stuffed so that I couldn’t 
hear their plots.” 

However, I soon had surprising news. I was again keeping 
away from Cambuslochan. One day at the mart Mr. Ralston 
got hold of me and rallied me on the likely cause. It was 
near one o’clock and my friend hauled me into the luncheon- 
room. After we had a snack together, he ordered a second 
whisky for himself and another glass of beer for me ; then he 
tossed down half a sovereign to pay for all and would not 
listen to a word of protest. 

” No, no, my boy,” and he came over to my side, ” this is 
my lucky day. I’ve been in at McKerracher’s,” he continued 
in a whisper ; ” he wrote, asking me to call. That little 
business is settled. The loan’s ready, and I’ve the where- 
withal to push the adjuster and smash those London rascals.” 

I drank luck to him with all heartiness, but thinking over 
the news later I felt uneasy and I shared my concern with 
my usual confidante. 

There was another friend that Nina did not like so well to 
hear me speak about. Miss Maymie was now making Wiston 
Court her home, greatly to the surprise of the Lowis folk, who 
had thought she would feel the place strange and lonely, and 
would prefer to be nearer her parents. After seeing the Court 
occasionally I understood her motives. My first visit was 
an unexpected one ; Meiklejohn was laid up with rheumatism 
and he sent me in his place. It did seem odd to me at first 
that the young marchioness should care for this property. 
She had been brought up in one of the loveliest districts of the 
land, where every day of her life she looked on fertile plains, 
sweet pastoral hills, and noble mountains ; the country round 
Wiston was as fiat as a floor and there was not an eminence 
in sight. It was not even well wooded, and its pasture and 
green-crops — for grain was almost entirely abandoned — made 
it look bare and poor to eyes familiar with Craigkenneth 
carse. What gave it charm to Miss Maymie ? This, I felt 
sure; her social consequence. Here she had never been a 


222 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


plain miss, a commoner’s daughter ; she was known only for 
a great lady. Her only superior in rank, a duke, was an 
elderly bachelor and an absentee ; Miss Maymie was left the 
leader of the county aristocracy. As my visits grew more 
frequent, I became aware too that her dependants here were 
different from the common people she had been used to. The 
farmers were slow and heavy, the labourers dull, loutish, 
servile. The tenantry and ploughmen at Lowis never forgot 
that the laird and his family were not a whit different from 
themselves under the clothes, at least under the skin ; the 
natives here felt that the marchioness and they belonged to 
different races and they acquiesced in the distinction. Now, 
the homage they rendered her was grateful to the young lady. 
Whether she had it in her always and only needed the chance 
to show it, whether it had been gendered by fortune, she 
certainly displayed as much complacent pride as any queen. 
With it all she kept her hard common-sense. The head of 
each department on her property had to be a capable person 
and was usually drawn from the north, the rest were natives 
and slaves. 

These natives, so different from our northern ploughmen, 
began to interest me much as strange animals might have 
done. Slow of speech and movement, they seemed at first 
to know nothing, be fit for nothing ; give them time, and you 
found they knew and could do all things in their province, 
though to explain their operations in words was beyond them. 
Horses, cattle, sheep, they understood, understood better than 
I did ; their sluggish patience, maybe, was the secret of the 
sympathy. At their work they used antiquated implements 
and their methods were often cumbrous ; but the fault was 
their masters', who had no enterprise. They were undoubt- 
edly slower than the ploughmen I had known ; yet with this, 
again, their masters had to do. A Hamptonshire farmer 
might have learned much from the Lowis tenantry on the art 
of driving his workers on. After allowing for all their defects 
I was humbled to find that these lumbering inarticulate figures 
had so much practical knowledge in their heads and could 
pass so much useful work through their clumsy-looking hands. 
Knowledge of the showier sort they did not own. They read 
with difficulty and could hardly write. I was told the labourers 
hereabout had been enthusiastic supporters of Arch and had 
all been in the Agricultural Union. That was a generation 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


223 

ago and more. Now the Union was dead, and the labourer 
had no interest wider than his day’s work. 

How did they contrive to exist ? I asked myself. Their 
wage had fallen almost as low as in pre^ Union days. Four- 
teen shillings a week was the average, and out of this a cottage 
rent had to come. About Craigkenneth a fully-qualified 
ploughman could command at least a pound and free housing. 
That the rural labourers in Hamptonshire felt they had no 
future was shown by this : the sons were not brought up to 
their father’s calling. All the young men migrated to the 
Black Country to earn big money in mines and iron-works. 
The labourers did not appear to blame the squire or the farmer 
for their poverty ; they understood, I suppose, that the value 
of land was down and they would charge the fault on circum- 
stances. 

It happens sometimes — -a reason could be given if one had 
time — that mute and helpless sufferers draw our sympathy 
more than others that murmur and resist. I found myself 
thinking a great deal about those dumb stolid toilers and 
wondering if their poverty was inevitable. For it was their 
poverty that exercised me first. Could they not get a decenter 
wage, live in a little more comfort ? Then their helplessness 
appealed to me. A farmer or a squire was the god that ruled 
their lot ; he kept them in poverty, with a word he could 
bring them to destitution. I saw this, but with pity only ; 
I did not for an instant question its justice. 

I had chances enough for studying the Hamptonshire 
labourer. The marchioness may have been like the French 
lady who never trusted a man till he had been in love with 
her. Certainly she trusted me, and once I got the way to 
Wiston she would have had me on the road every week. 
Lowis people joked me about my luck ; some even took it 
seriously, I knew — believed that the marchioness had more 
than a business preference for me, and that I, presuming 
doubtless on my looks, had ambition and impudence enough 
to hope for her hand. Meiklejohn knew better, though he 
often had a quiet joke when I was summoned south. He 
was tired of the journeys himself, and as I consulted him on 
all that was doing at the Court he had no room for jealousy. 
But there was one who did not take the intimacy so lightly. 
Nina must certainly have been aware that the marchioness 
and I had no serious designs on one another ; only, she did 


224 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


not know the marchioness so well, did not know how she 
prized her title and dignity, and she may have feared that 
even a great lady would not let social distinctions bar a flir- 
tation. Nina thought, too, as I was yet to learn, that on my 
side there was more than the hireling’s zeal and that I would 
do for Lady Soar what I would not for my own employer. 
And then she knew, for I had told her myself, how I had 
adored Miss Maymie in my boyhood. Did she fear the old 
ashes might kindle ? Anyway, she was indifferent to the 
changes at the Court and impatient of my journeys. One 
day in October I had arranged to meet her and Mrs. Fleming 
in Craigkenneth. Nina spoke of a concert that was to be 
given at Aletown in a week’s time. She was to sing and I 
had already promised to come down. But a day or two 
before there had come a summons to Wiston. I was to super- 
intend an experiment that was to be made at the Home 
Farm in the different ways of clamping turnips. Perhaps I 
had a little pleasure in showing Nina that even for such trifles 
my presence was thought necessary. 

“You don’t need to attend to such a thing,” she said with 
some reason ; “ why can’t the bailiff do that ? What’s the 
use of having one if you’re to do his work ? ” 

I answered in the bantering way I had at that time, a way 
that must have been trying to my friends, that a bailiff 
couldn’t be expected to do business as well as myself. 

Nina did not smile. She looked annoyed, though she 
controlled herself. 

“ You’re not Lady Soar’s servant,” she said. “ You are 
only engaged to work for Admiral Seton.” 

“ True, my dear. Only, you see, it might hurt me even 
with the admiral if I didn’t make myself useful to his 
daughter.” 

“ It doesn’t matter. If you do the work you were engaged 
for, that’s all they’ve a right to expect.” 

The words surprised me. Nina was anxious, I knew, that 
I should advance in my profession ; her own interest was 
concerned. Yet she was counselling conduct that was not 
likely to bring promotion. I did not understand that a 
woman, at least a girl, will rather see her lover and herself 
lose an advantage than owe it to a rival. So I merely re- 
marked in my bantering way that a lady like the marchioness 
must be obeyed ; everything must give way to her. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


225 

Thereupon Nina exploded. With a viciousness in her eyes 
and voice that startled me, she said, 

“ It’s perfectly true what they say of you ; you’re nothing 
but a toady.” 

How the cruel words shocked me I cannot hope to tell. 
It was as if a hammer had smote me on the heart. I did not 
speak, I did not try to cover my emotion : concealment was 
useless. Nina too was silent, though from sullenness appar- 
ently, and ere another word passed her mother joined us. 
Before we parted, I told Mrs. Fleming why I could not attend 
the concert. It could not be helped, she said ; they would 
be seeing me at any rate the Wednesday before, at Nina’s 
birthday party. Nina gave no sign of pleasure at my response ; 
the sulky look was on her face when we said good-bye. 

Some young companions of the Flemings were at the birth- 
day party, among them a lad in a writer’s office whom I had 
met at the banker’s before and had rather taken to. From 
the time the company gathered, Nina, who had treated me as 
a mere acquaintance, attacked him and tried to draw him into 
a flirtation. After the dancing began he could not get away 
from her side. At first he only submitted to her attentions ; 
his own sweetheart was present ; besides, he had been friendly 
with me and would not like to give me pain. Later, as Nina 
persisted in her attack, he yielded completely, and the pair 
had a night of demonstrative love-making. Miss Reid was 
chaffed about her loss, and while affecting to take it good- 
humouredly she could not altogether hide her uneasiness. 
So at least did I interpret her feelings, reading her heart, 
perhaps, by my own. She and I were together a good deal 
and kept up an appearance of cheerfulness, which both knew 
to be false. I had only one dance with Niiia, and in the course 
of it she did not speak a word. When I went to bed, deep 
into the morning, I had such a sinking of the heart as I had 
not known for years. Sleep was impossible, and I tried to 
gather my bewildered thoughts. The pitiless insult Nina had 
flung at me some days before had been tearing my heart 
ever since ; here was something more, something worse. 
The insult had made me know that my sweetheart could 
despise me ; her behaviour to-night showed that she could 
think of another. Never had this possibility been in my 
thoughts ; it had always been accepted that she was mine. 
As I thought of her preferring a rival, it seemed that th6 

Q 


226 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


heart had been torn out of my breast. A girl whose favourite 
doll has been stolen, a mother whose one child has been kid- 
napped — I felt like them. I was forsaken ; my sweetheart 
was happy with another. The incidents of the night forced 
themselves on my memory. Nina’s face, her eyes bright with 
love-making, rose in the dark as vivid as it had been at the 
dance. Cruel doubts thronged upon me. When had Nina 
begun to fancy young Balfour ? Had there been love-making 
between them before ? How would they use the chances 
that nearness and friendship gave them ? Jealousy furnished 
answers, each charged with poison. Fancy after fancy, all 
sorts of conjectures, all sorts of visions and pictures, streamed 
through my brain, and ever the glowing face of my false 
sweetheart would rise from among them as vividly as life. 
My thoughts grew more wild, more torturing, till I felt I 
was near madness. I did not sleep an instant, and when I 
came down to breakfast there was another disappointment : 
Nina had kept her bed ; she had a headache. So I left Ale- 
town with her flirtation as the last memory. 

After spending the day at the office I started for the Mid- 
lands with the evening mail. Though utterly jaded I could 
not sleep. Gnawing doubts were busy. How had Nina been 
spending the day, the evening ? Had she and Balfour met ? 
Had there been more flirtation ? I wandered about the cor- 
ridors like a prisoner, and I welcomed the arrival at Wiston 
because I had room to flee from myself. 

The experiments there interested me and needed attention, 
so love-cares were less obtrusive ; yet all the while I knew that, 
as with my dreams of Miss Maymie long ago, my duties were 
but bubbles on the stream. In the evening I was at passion’s 
mercy once more, and I had no reasonable succour. The 
marchioness was not at home, there was no one about the 
Court I cared to talk with. To forget myself I drank a good 
deal at dinner, and the drink and fatigue sent me to sleep as 
soon as I lay down. In the early morning I woke and could 
not sleep again : maddening doubts and fancies were on me. 
The forenoon I spent with the bailiff and was then free to 
leave. I had listened to his talk on estate affairs, had dis- 
cussed stock and buildings, with outward calm, and he would 
never guess that my thoughts were half a kingdom’s length 
away, that I was hearing myself called a loathsome name, 
that I was watching a pairof hazel eyes sparkle — but not forme. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


227 


CHAPTER XXV 

T he midland train I returned by reached Carlisle 
about seven. Always before, when I travelled by 
this train, I got a connection for Craigkenneth 
within an hour. Now I found that, among the petty 
economies which the north companies were effecting, this 
train had been discontinued since the beginning of the month. 
The midnight express would land me on Craigkenneth plat- 
form at an unearthly hour. My other course was to stay the 
night in Carlisle. There was plenty of time to decide, and 
meantime I had something to eat in the County Hotel and saw 
that a bed would be ready if required. Want of sleep was 
telling on me, and I should gladly have lain down had I not 
shrunk from the terrors that had been haunting my lonely 
nights. Still undecided whether to leave by the express or wait 
till morning, I lit a cigar and strolled down as far as the river. 
It would be after ten when I was nearing the hotel again. 
A good many people were in the street, and at the Viaduct 
three men walking abreast reached the corner at the moment 
I did. The face of one was familiar. 

“ Name ? I asked with a laugh, as I held out my hand, 
“ Mine is Bryce.” 

He laughed also. “ Mine is Rankin. From Claygate.” 

It was the clerk at Lyon's works. In my desolate mood I 
should have been glad to meet an acquaintance of any sort. 
I was doubly pleased at encountering one who had proved so 
interesting before. I told him how I came to be in Carlisle, 
and he in turn explained that he was travelling for the firm, 
as he had occasionally to do, and was to leave for Newcastle 
next day. His companions meanwhile had crossed over and 
halted in a short side-street. 

” Come along and meet my friends,” Rankin urged, after 
informing me that he had been at a lecture in the Viaduct 


228 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Hall and that one of his companions had been the lecturer. 
When we overtook them near the post office they were stand- 
ing with another man whom they in turn were constraining 
to join their company. We were introduced and walked on 
together, turning along Warwick Road to the house of one of 
the party, a Mr. Bulman. As I afterwards learned, he owned 
a small foundry in Carlisle, was an ardent Socialist and enter- 
tained the Labour lecturers who came to the town. The 
lecturer of the night, Dave Trenery, official of some sort in 
one of the great artisan associations of the country, was a 
little barrel of a man, with small chubby features and a long 
spreading red beard. When Rankin introduced me as one 
interested in social questions, Trenery had said in a loud 
deliberate voice, 

“ Pleased to meet you, Mr. Bryce. If you’re really in- 
terested in those questions, you’ll be a good Socialist ere long, 
if you’re not one already.” 

” Mr. Trenery thinks all honest inquirers land there as 
surely as all rivers run into the sea,” said Mr. Bulman as if 
trying to make things pleasant. 

We could not open a discussion in the street. When we 
reached Bulman’s house we were taken into a parlour where 
Mrs. Bulman brought out a decanter of whisky. Soon we 
were engaged with our grog and tobacco, all but the man 
Atkinson that had joined us at the post office. He neither 
smoked nor drank. He was a short, broad man of, maybe, 
sixty, a workman certainly, I guessed a shoemaker, for his 
skin had the brownish-yellow hue often noticeable in the com- 
plexion of leather- workers. His trade, in fact, was clog-making. 

The talk was first of the lecture and the audience. Atkin- 
son and I were silent, and, perhaps to draw me into the con- 
versation, young Rankin explained that I was naturally 
attracted to social questions because, being a land-agent, I 
had dealings with all classes connected with the land. He 
understood, however, that I was not satisfied as to Socialism 
being a solution of those questions. I was not sure that it 
would work. 

” No wonder,” old Atkinson interposed in a voice that was 
almost a growl. 

” What ! have we another doubter in the company, another 
Thomas ? ” demanded Trenery. ” And what may be your 
objections to Socialism, friend ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


229 

I object to its motives, its methods, and its men,” answered 
Atkinson with a readiness that showed he had thought on 
the subject and could speak his thoughts. ” But you are to 
satisfy Mr. Bryce first, I understand. I may get a chance 
later if Mr. Bryce doesn’t keep your hands full.” 

” Well,” I began, a little embarrassed at having to speak 
before such a company on a subject I was not master of, ” I 
should explain that I haven’t studied Socialism and have 
hardly a right to criticise it. How would you define 
Socialism ? ” I asked the lecturer, glad of a chance to make 
him speak instead of me. 

” I’ll put it in a word,” he said oracularly ; “it means, 
everything for each and all. Land, capital, the instruments 
of production, the things produced, will be for the use and the 
enjoyment of all alike. Class distinctions will disappear and 
be replaced by equality and brotherhood.” 

“ Yes. Only what I’m not sure about is this. Would 
things be managed better under such a system than under the 
present one ? ” 

“ A thousand times better. Have you ever read that 
book ? ” and he named an American work that had apparently 
had a great vogue years before. 

I had never seen it. 

“ Well,” he continued, “ it gives the picture of a city with 
all conceivable conveniences and luxuries, far finer than any- 
thing the privileged enjoy with us. And everybody gets a 
share of them, that’s the beauty of the thing. And how is it 
done ? By straining the workers ? Not at all. It’s done by 
having no drones, by making everybody work, and work in 
a well-organised system.” 

“ I never read the book,” I admitted again ; “ but the state 
it pictures seems to me quite impossible.” 

“ How, pray ? ” 

“ Because,” I said, hesitating a good deal in my reply 
“ if everybody is to have luxuries, such as a duke has at 
present, that’s to say, if we’re all to live in splendid mansions 
and ride in motors and wear diamonds, it’ll take an enormous 
lot of labour to provide those things. Of course, you say 
more people are employed and their work is better organised. 
That’s all right. But, as a set-off, the luxuries are to be far 
finer and everybody is to have them, ten or perhaps a hundred, 
for one that has them now. It seems to me a certainty that 


230 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


people will still be oppressed with labour ; the only differ- 
ence will be that all will be oppressed, instead of some, a« at 
present.” 

” Oh, not at all ; utter nonsense, my dear sir,” said Mr. 
Trenery. ” With our labour-saving machinery and our perfect 
organisation we’ll turn out all we can desire with perhaps an 
hour’s work per day.” 

As I had no answer ready, I merely shook my head. The 
lecturer was about to continue when the old dogger interposed. 

” Did it never occur to you that there might be an easier 
way to deal with the luxuries ? ” 

” And what may that be, Mr. Atkinson ? ” 

” Abolish them altogether.” As Trenery in turn was slow 
with an answer, the other went on, ” What Mr. Bryce says 
is perfectly true, as any child who knows that two and two 
make four could tell. If you want fineries, you’ll have to work 
for them, and the more fineries the more work. But there’s 
this besides : it never has an end. The more you get, the 
more you’ll want. What’s the sensible thing, then ? Do 
without them. If I don’t wear a new velvet suit every week 
but make a suit of moleskin last me the year through, I spare 
the tailors. If my wife wears no diamonds, the labour of the 
digger, and sailor, and cutter, and merchant, and company- 
promoter, and I don’t know how many more, is saved. So 
with everything. If you don’t need much, you don’t have to 
slave to get it ; and, better still, other folk don’t have to slave 
for you.” 

Trenery was ready to speak, but the Clay gate clerk was 
before him. 

” That’s a bare miserable life ; it’s not worth hving. For 
my part, I want all that’s going, all that we have at present, 
and all that’s yet to be invented. Only I want others to get 
them the same as myself.” 

“Yes,” growled old Atkinson, “and that’s just my ob- 
jection to what I call the motive of Socialism. Socialists — I 
mean the ruck of them — are moved by the desire to get as 
much comfort and luxury as possible. That’s the road that 
leads straight away from salvation. A man should try to do 
with as few material comforts as possible. He should feel 
that the less he depends on outward possessions, the more a 
man is he.” 

“ No, no, no,” roared the lecturer, who could no longer be 


the story of a floughboy 


231 


repressed ; “ Mr. Rankin is perfectly right. We’re entitled 
to a full development of all our faculties, and that’s just another 
way of saying that we’re entitled to the enjoyment of all 
imaginable inventions and discoveries. And we’ll have them. 
And what’s more, we’ll have them, as our young friend says, 
in a perfection never dreamed of — poems grander than Shake- 
speare’s, pictures finer than Holman Hunt’s ; ” and with his 
short pudgy arm he made a sweep as if haranguing thousands. 

The old dogger kept his eyes on the floor and seemed too 
much disgusted to attempt any rejoinder. But as no one 
else spoke, he made an effort over himself. 

“ Suppose we take pictures. What’s a picture, after all ? 
Merely a shadow of the real. Why do people like paintings, 
or profess to like them ? Because they’ve lost the use of 
their eyes ; they can’t see Nature. Can any paintings of the 
sea match the sea itself ? What man in his senses would shut 
himself up in a room to look at paintings of the sky if he could 
live in country air and look up at the sky when he liked ? 
All this luxury you’ve been talking about isn’t a means of 
helping us to enjoy life ; it’s an encumbrance, it’s an obstruc- 
tion, it keeps us from the sun, it keeps us in a stuffy room 
when we might be out of doors. And all this talk about Art 
has done as much as anything to hinder real reform. I told 
Ruskin that when he was blathering in Fors. And he came 
to see it, for he said more than once that he felt he would 
never do any good till he stopped talking and began to work 
like a man. But, poor soul ! he hadn’t the courage any more 
than the rest of us.” 

“ I’ll go with you on the fresh-air line,” said Mr. Bulman, 
who had mostly contented himself with listening. ” After 
being in a foundry for five-and-thirty years as man and master. 
I’ve reached the conclusion that fresh air is just about the finest 
thing in the world. And I guess,” he added with a laugh, as 
he looked at my fresh cheeks, “ here’s a young gentleman 
that’s very much of my mind.” 

” Yes,” I admitted, ” I spend a good part of my life in the 
open air. There’s a picture-gallery at — at the place I live on, 
and, if the people about went into it no oftener than I, it 
might be shut up.” 

I was conscious, however, even while making the remark, 
that it was not merely indifference to Art that kept me out of 
the Lowis gallery. 


232 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Mr. Trenery addressed the young clerk in a jocular tone. 

“ It’s quite evident, Mr. Rankin, that you and I are the 
only persons of refined taste in the company. We must leave 
these barbarians to their native ignorance. They’ll soon be 
running about the woods naked if they get their way.” 

No one cared to retort. Indeed, the talk seemed like lan- 
guishing when Mr. Bulman, to give it fresh life, addressed 
the dogger : 

“ If I remember, though, you had three counts in your 
indictment of Socialism ” 

“ The three M’s,” laughed my Claygate friend. 

” Yes. And you’ve only given us one — the motive of 
Socialism. I’m sure Mr. Trenery will be glad to hear you on 
the other two heads, the — what was it again ? ” 

“ The methods and the men,” prompted the clerk.” 

” Yes. The methods and the men.” 

” Delighted, I’m sure,” said the lecturer ; ” and I only hope 
my friend will be able to make out a stronger case than he 
has done on the first point. What are your objections to 
the methods of Socialism, friend ? ” 

The old man hitched his shoulders to draw himself together 
and began in his gruff tones and Cumbrian accent. 

“You talked about the great output of conveniences and 
luxuries there would be under Socialism and about their 
fair distribution. Who are to direct the manufacture of these 
and their distribution ? ” 

“ We’ll have organisers, of course ; men, the most quali- 
fied men, who will organise labour to the best advantage both 
in production and distribution.” 

“ In a word, you’ll have rulers.” 

“ I prefer the term ‘ organisers,’ because they’ll be chosen by 
the community and be responsible to the community.” 

“ We needn’t quarrel about the name. Organisers, be it. 
Anyhow, according to you, those organisers are to direct the 
workers in producing and distributing things.” 

“ That is so.” 

“ Suppose a worker refused to obey the direction of those 
organisers, would ? ” 

“ Oh, Mr. Atkinson, I can’t suppose such a thing. The 
community at large would be so harmonious that no individual 
would think of disobeying his chosen administrators.” 

“ Suppose a worker did refuse,” persisted Atkinson, “ would 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


233 


the administrators, as you call them now, have power to 
make him obey ? " 

“ Undoubtedly. The community would arm them with 
such power. We don’t want anarchy in our new state.” 

” We’ve got this length, then. There are to be workers 
and there are to be directors or organisers or administrators 
armed with power to make the workers obey them. Now, 
you told us to start with, that there would be no class- 
distinctions under Socialism ; yet here are two great classes, 
administrators and workers. You told us there would be 
equality under Socialism, yet here’s a set of folks with power 
to make the rest obey them.” 

I laughed at what seemed to me a triumphant argument, 
and our host joined in the laugh. Indeed, while he must have 
been a believer in Socialism, he had evidently a great liking 
for old Atkinson and a good deal of sympathy with his opinions. 

Mr. Trenery ^as not ready with a rejoinder. He was 
beginning with an ” Oh, now,” when the Claygate clerk 
interposed, 

” I never understood that there was to be strict equality 
under Socialism ” 

” We were told so to start with,” the old man interrupted. 
” But as you two Socialists appear to differ on that point, a 
pretty serious one too, I’ll leave you to fight it out between 
yourselves. It wants just ten minutes of midnight and I’ve 
a wife waiting for me, a thing you youngsters know nothing 
about yet, I take it. So I’ll only have a minute to state my 
objections to the third of the three M’s, as our young friend 
put it, the men in this movement.” 

” Now we’re in for it,” laughed Mr. Bulman, while the 
lecturer said in his oracular way, 

” We shan’t be much hurt unless it’s very different from the 
previous attacks. What do you find to object to in the men 
of the Socialist movement ? ” 

” My objection is to the leaders of the movement.” 

” Very good. And what do you object to in the leaders 
of the movement ? ” 

” I’ll name some Socialist leaders,” said the dogger, “ half 
a dozen of them,” and he gave some familiar names. ” Now, 
who are those fellows ? Three of them are writers, three of 
them are or have been trade-union agents, and the smaller 
men among the leaders belong, with very few exceptions, to 


234 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


one or other of those two classes ; they make their living by 
the pen or they make it as officials of some Union. Well 
take the last lot first. The Union agents have mostly been 
working-men at one time, but stopped working as soon as 
they got the chance ” 

“ Oh ! have they ? broke in Mr. Trenery. “ If you tried 
their job, you would find whether they had to work or not.” 

” Have stopped working,” pursued the dogger steadily, 
” and live now by spouting.” 

All roared except the speaker and his antagonist. Old 
Atkinson, with unmoved face, continued, 

” The other fellows, the writers, never worked ; they have 
always lived by spouting, spouting on paper, spouting in 
plays or novels or newspaper leaders. A stroke of real work 
is what they never did since they were born. And it’s men 
of those two classes, men who never knew what work is and 
men who got out of work as soon as they could, it’s those two 
sets of fellows that lead the Labour movement. No wonder 
genuine working-men don’t join the movement. Can you 
conceive genuine working-men led by a crew of parasites ? ” 

” Oh, oh ! ” protested young Rankin laughingly. ” Order, 
order ! ” 

Mr. Bulman and I roared again, and Trenery, too, gave a 
laugh, though in affected scorn. The old dogger was as grim 
as ever. 

“So it comes to this,” he continued, rising from his chair. 
“ First we were ruled by landlords, now we’re ruled by land- 
lords and capitalists, and soon we’re to be ruled by spouters. 
If we’re to have rulers at all. I’d rather have the landlord or 
the capitalist than the spout er, any day.” 

“ Just wait a little and I’ll smash your argument to powder,” 
Trenery began ; but old Atkinson was already at the door and 
sa3dng, 

“I’ll need to prepare for my wife’s arguments. Good- 
night, everybody.” He left us. 

My friend and I only waited long enough to take a rather 
more ceremonious leave. As we were making ready to go 
remarks passed on the old dogger, and Mr. Bulman informed 
us that at one time Atkinson had done fine work in the boot 
and shoe trade. After his opinions on social matters had taken 
their present form, he gave that up and started clogging. This 
was a great downcome for his wife and had occasioned much 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


235 


dispeace in the house. The old fellow did not stop there. 
He was anxious to move out into the country and cultivate 
a piece of ground while still pursuing his craft. As yet his 
wife had been able to deter him, though with a struggle that 
caused perpetual strife. 

Young Rankin was staying at the Bush Hotel and he con- 
voyed me round to the County. We spoke of the late dis- 
cussion as we strolled along. While admitting that Trenery 
was not a powerful champion, my Claygate friend had lost 
none of his faith in Socialism. 


236 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXVI 

T he talk at Bulman’s had laid my love-torments ; 

a stiff whisky at the hotel kept them down and 
allowed me to steal a few hours' sleep. When I 
woke it was still dark and I made haste to sleep 
again. Unfortunately, my room looked on to the line, and 
the whistling and snorting of engines, the bumping of coaches, 
kept me wakeful till my invisible tormentors gathered and 
began gnawing at my heart. Soon the torture was un- 
bearable ; I rose and dressed. It was hardly seven o’clock 
and still the grey of morning. My breakfast was bespoken 
for half-past eight, and I resolved to spend the long interval 
out of doors. The name at the corner of the station-square — 
Botchergate — reminded me that Atkinson had his shop in 
that street, and I strolled along to have a look at it. Not 
far down I observed his sign above a small single shop on the 
left side. The place, of course, was still shut. I sauntered 
out London Road, and when I returned to the spot I found 
the door was open though the shutters were not down. As I 
crossed the street Atkinson came out and was proceeding to 
remove the bars when he noticed me, and favoured me with 
a nod and what on a softer face would have been a smile. 

“ And what do you think of our London oracle ? ” he asked, 
when we had stood a minute exchanging a word or two of 
greeting. 

“ He didn't strike me as a genius when he got into your 
hands,” I said, laughing. “It’s rather surprising to see a 
fellow like him in an important post.” 

” He has gab and cheek, and you know with how little 
wisdom the world is governed. I used to see a good deal of 
those Labour leaders till I drew off in utter disgust. They’re 
a rum lot.” 

“ You've corresponded with some big men, Mr. Atkinson,” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


237 

I said ; '‘I think you mentioned that you had written to 
Ruskin." 

“Yes, if you call him a big man. At one time in my life 
I thought there might be good to be got from those self-named 
prophets, and I laid my difficulties before them and would 
fain have read wisdom into their answers. It wouldn’t do. 
I found that a man has to make his way alone. You seldom 
fall in with the right guide, and almost never till he’s not 
needed. And it’s not for want of trying a variety. I have 
letters from scores of them, from Carlyle down to ’’ 

“ Oh ! you have letters from Carlyle ! ’’ I said, much 
interested. Once Mr. Fleming told me he had often wished 
to write to his hero, but had never had the courage. “ I have 
a friend who is a great admirer of Carlyle and he ’* 

“ I didn’t know there were any left,’’ the dogger inter- 
rupted. 

“ He’s the only one I know,’’ I admitted, laughing. “ So 
for his sake the letters would interest me. Perhaps if I’m 
this way again I might get a sight of them, that’s to say, if 
there’s nothing private in them.’’ 

“ Nothing at all ; the whole world might read them. 
When do you leave, Mr. Bryce ? ’’ 

“ At 9.10 and I’ve breakfast to take yet.’’ 

“ Oh ay. Because I was going to say you might have 
come round just now. My house is in Tait Street there. 
But you couldn’t manage it.’’ 

“ Sorry, no. But perhaps some other time.’’ 

“ Give me your address, Mr. Bryce, and I’ll send them on. 
That’ll let your friend see them as well. I hope they’ll give 
him more light than ever they gave me.” 

I thanked him warmly, and promised to take the greatest 
care of the documents and return them without delay. 

“ We’d survive it though they were lost,” said the old man. 
“ They’re interesting as curiosities ; that’s all. I’m afraid. 
Come into the shop, Mr. Bryce, and give me your address.” 

I gave it him and my name in full. 

“ Do I need to put ‘ Junior ’ or anything like that|? ” he 
asked. 

“ No. My father died long ago.” 

“ Excuse me for asking. But I understood you helped to 
manage an estate, and I know it’s a line where father and son 
often work together.” 


238 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


" Yes ; but it was purely through accident that I got 
into it/' 

“ And do you find yourself comfortable in it ? " he asked, 
speaking quietly and slowly and eyeing me keenly the while. 

“ Oh, well," and I hesitated, “ it's pleasant enough in some 
ways. Certainly it has drawbacks like everything else." 

Atkinson shook his head. " Very serious drawbacks, I 
should say. Still, you’re young, Mr. Bryce, and, I suppose, 
not married ? " 

" No, no," I said with a laugh. 

" Keep that way as long as you can. You’ve time to travel 
far yet, and there’s hope for you, seeing you’re alone. Once 

a man has a woman to study ’’ and the old dogger gave 

his head a hopeless shake to round the sentence. 

I laughed again. But looking my watch I found it was time 
for breakfast, and after a hasty but hearty good-bye I sped away. 

As I neared home, all sorts of conjectures about my sweet- 
heart thronged upon me. When my old landlady casually 
remarked, " There was somebody here asking for you," my 
heart gave a wild bound. It was a man, however, Mrs. Pater- 
son went on to say, a working-man to appearance, with a face 
she had seen before. He did not give his name ; he would 
see me some other time. 

Day followed day and jealousy gave me ceaseless torment. 
Was Nina meeting my rival often ? What were they doing 
when together ? Eagerly I watched for every post, nightly 
I repaired to Parkend hoping for chance news. On the 
market-day I spent most of the time in Craigkenneth streets, 
for Nina knew I should be in town then, and she might run 
through for the sake of meeting me. Nina was not there and 
I wandered the streets with a heavy heart. 

About lunch-time I turned into the mart and was making 
for the refreshment-rooms when someone touched my elbow. 
It was Liddell. 

" Could ye slip roon’ to the loadin’-bank ? ’’ he asked in a 
low voice. " I’ve something to tell ye. If ye mak’ yer way 
roon’, I’ll be efter ye." 

I did as he directed and waited near the spot where I had 
read Nina’s first letter. What a change from then ! 

Liddell soon lounged up, trying to look as if he had no 
errand. On joining me he glanced round to make sure we 
were not observed. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


239 


“ I was feared ye werena in the day, Mr. Bryce,” he began ; 
and he went on to say that he had watched for me last Thurs- 
day, and then had come out to Lowis. “ However,” he con- 
cluded, “ it’s a’ richt noo, and I’ll put aff nae time in talkin’. 
My dinner-oor ’ll sune be up. Here’s what I want to speak 
aboot. Auld Kirkwood’s leavin’ sune.” 

This was an old farmer who had never got on well with 
Meiklejohn and was now retiring. 

” His tack is out at Martinmas next year,” I said. 

” Ay. And ye’ll hae to gie him compensation for Un- 
exhausted ? ” 

” Of course. We always have. I don’t know that it'll be 
a deadly sum in his case, though ; ” and I smiled, for it was 
well known that Kirkwood starved his land, and this had 
caused many a quarrel between him and the factor. 

” That’s maybe whaur ye’re wrang, Mr. Bryce. I shouldna 
wonder if it’s the biggest amount ye ever paid to an ootgoin’ 
tenant.” 

” Nonsense. Everybody knows Kirkwood isn’t good to his 
place.” 

” Ay, but there’s tricks in a’ trades,” said the fellow with 
a wink. ” Ye’ll get a surprise when settlin’-day comes.” 

” How ? ” 

” D’ye ken what the auld is daein’ ? Him and Mac- 

kinlay’s workin’ in Co. And a’ Mackinlay’s stuff is got in 
Kirkwood’s name. So ye’ll hae that to pay for as weel as 
auld Kirkwood’s.” 

I was confounded at the news. 

” You don’t mean that ? ” I said at last ; and when he 
only smiled with sly importance, I inquired, ” How do you 
come to know ? ” 

” Because I’m handlin’ the stuff.” 

He explained that he was at present a shed-porter at the 
goods station, and had his suspicions awakened by noticing 
that Big Pate’s carts sometimes came to lift Kirkwood’s bags. 
After that he looked every consignment and found that 
nothing came in Big Pate’s name. 

” This is important,” I said, when I had satisfied myself 
that there was ground for the charge ; ” and if we find the 
thing correct, I can promise that you’ll have something hand 
some for informing us.” 

” It's no for that I’m doin’ it, as you ken, Mr. Bryce. I 


240 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


want that black devil punished, and if I see that Til no quarrel 
aboot reward." 

I promised him satisfaction there too. 

" Well need to prove our case, though," I pointed out, and 
I arranged with him to get information when the next con- 
signment arrived and have it followed. 

Big Pate was certainly no credit to Lowis. He was drinking 
heavily and neglecting his farm. His wife had even a worse 
name ; she had frequent drinking-spates, it was said ; 
encouraged men about the place, well-to-do farmers, dealers, 
and the like, till the house was no better than a brothel. 
Meiklejohn vowed he would take this chance to " scale the 
byke." 

My pride would not let me visit at Ale town. When I had 
been a full week home, a note came one morning in the familiar 
hand : 

" Dear Jim, 

" We thought you would be over before this. You 
might come this evening about seven. 

" Your own 

" Nina." 

What joy from those few words ! What sighs of satis- 
faction did I draw that afternoon ! Though I remarked the 
feminine artifice in the invitation. The notice was so short 
that I could not have declined by letter even had I wanted. 
I did not want. Never had I approached the bank-house 
with such a thumping heart. It was Mrs. Fleming who 
received me, and I was talking with her some time ere Nina 
appeared. 

“ Papa ’ll want to see you," my sweetheart said. “ I’ll 
take him up," she added, turning to her mother, who left us. 

As soon as we were alone, Nina came over and offered her 
mouth. 

" Why have you stayed so long away, Jim ? ’’ she asked 
in tender reproach. 

" I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome." 

" Oh, Jim ! if you only knew how I have longed for you ! 
Jim, will you forgive me for what I said ? It was very wicked 
of me. I don’t know what tempted me to do it. I have 
been miserable since." 


The story of a ploughboy 


241 


She alluded, I knew, to the “ toady ” remark. 

" Don’t think anything more about it, dear,” I said, as I 
held her and kissed her. Yet the sore was festering, even if 
the pain was not so keen. 

“ Jim,” my sweetheart began, when we had stood a while 
silent, clasped in each other's arms, “ were you wearying for 
me ? ” 

I nodded. 

Very much ? ” 

More than I can tell you.” 

“ Oh, Jim, it was horrible ! I couldn’t have borne it much 
longer. Jim, if I hadn’t written, would you have stayed away 
altogether ? ” 

” Perhaps,” I said with a smile. 

Oh, you wouldn’t, Jim. Say you wouldn’t.” 

"'I’m not so sure. I didn’t know that I was wanted back.” 

“ Say you wouldn’t, Jim. Tell me, dearest, you wouldn’t.” 

” No, my own darling, I wouldn’t ; indeed, I couldn’t. I 
must have come to you whether you had asked me or not.” 

After some more tender talk Nina took me up to the library, 
where I had the pleasure of presenting the banker with his 
hero’s letters. They were the only ones he had seen except in 
museums. He handled them with reverent care, gazed at 
them like a worshipper at an idol. 

" And his hand actually rested there ! ” he mused, drawing 
his own across the paper. 

There were three letters altogether. Two had been written 
in answer to Atkinson’s request for guidance. They coun- 
selled him to do his present work faithfully and look out for 
a chance of making an independent living in the country. 
The third was interesting. It was on the sex-question, a 
subject Carlyle has said little about in his books. I gathered 
that Atkinson had not been long married and was finding his 
wife a drag on him in his efforts to live after his convictions. 
Carlyle said the sex-relationship received undue importance 
in these days ; men had lost sight of the truth, which was, that 
woman was meant to be a help to them in leading the true 
life. The banker read the letters aloud, and his business 
experience enabled him to make out the crabbed scrawl with 
ease. As he read the passage about the ideal marriage, Nina 
and I exchanged smiling glances, though it was merely the 
ordinary views of the relationship that charmed us then. 

R 


242 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


At least I can say so for myself. The question whether we 
were to help one another in leading a heroic life was not in my 
thoughts* 

So the old tender tie held us once more ; love-verses flowed 
again from my pen and were sung to me by my darling ; 
best of all, I had again some one to share my troubles with. 
On some things, the Cambuslochan affair, for instance, I 
could talk to no other. I knew that the net was being drawn 
round my friend, and that Meiklejohn was as eager for the 
capture as the admiral. I was as eager for the escape, and it 
looked as if I should have my wish. After a trial which was 
bound to be costly, for many experts were called, Ralston got 
the verdict. He was elated. Now that his patent had a 
chance it would lift him clear of his difficulties. Nina and I 
rejoiced too, though in secret ; Meiklejohn and his employer 
were so keenly disappointed that I should have fared ill had 
they suspected where my sympathies lay. 

So the winter went on, and at Christmas the admiral, who 
was again spending much of his time at Lowis, was entertaining 
his elder daughter and her husband. Reggie was home from 
Oxford, and it would be for his sake, I presume, that I was 
asked to dine at the house on the last night but one of the year. 
The only other guest was Mr. Lyon from Claygate, who was 
through, I had heard, for business reasons. A strike was on 
at his works and he was in constant communication with the 
admiral. This was the dispute. The Claygate fire-clay 
miners, aware that trade was brisk and prices high, had 
demanded a rise of a halfpenny an hour. The rest of the 
directors, the admiral amongst them, were not averse to a rise 
of, say, a farthing ; Mr. Lyon was, mainly because the miners 
had lately joined a Union, the Coal-miners’ Union of the county, 
and had preferred their claim through an agent. He met the 
claim by the threat of a reduction of a halfpenny per hour, 
hoping presumably that things would ultimately be left as 
they were. The company had introduced new plant and must, 
he alleged, study economy in the meantime. The men reduced 
their demand to a farthing and prepared a statement showing 
what a trifling inroad this would make on the company’s 
dividends. Mr. Lyon was not the man to yield, at least to 
his employees, and the strike took place. At the dinner that 
night little was said on the subject though Mr. Lyon was, as 
usual, the chief talker. Only, when some remark about the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


243 


flowers on the table had led Mrs. Set on to say that they meant 
to rearrange and extend their hot-houses, Reggie said to his 
father, 

“ You won't be able to afford that, if there’s no dividend 
owing to the strike.” 

” And Mr. Lyon here will be harder hit still, with another 
mouth to feed,” said the admiral. 

A son had been born to Mr. Lyon a few days before. 

” How is baby getting on ? ” asked Mrs. Matthias- James, 
who was nursing her third child. 

Mr. Lyon informed her that the little chap was a young 
Samson. 

” What name are you giving him ? ” Mrs. Matthias- 
James inquired. 

“ We settled that before he came,” Mr. Lyon said. ” My 
wife and I named him Theodore. If it had been a girl, she 
should have been Dorothy. We had a capital joke about 
that,” he rattled on in his loud voice. ” When he was born, 
I wired off to my sister in London, ‘ Theodore Lyon has 
arrived.' She couldn’t make out who Theodore Lyon was, and 
she puzzled herself ever so long guessing what friend of ours of 
that name could have arrived from abroad. Haw, haw, haw ! ” 

We did not sit long after the ladies left. Mr. Lyon took no 
wine, and the admiral’s son-in-law did not hide his impatience 
at the manufacturer’s talk and all his ways. The admiral 
soon led us to the picture-gallery where coffee was to be 
served. This was a place I never visited if I could help it. 
Ever since the ploughmen’s treat five years ago I felt a sinking 
at the heart whenever the gallery was mentioned. While 
the rest of the company were strolling about, commenting on 
the pictures, I watched the exotic birds, and at last sat down 
on a bench to look at them more closely. Mr. Lyon was 
evidently not a connoisseur ; he soon left the ladies’ company 
and sat down beside me, his coffee in his hand. 

” Very hot here,” he remarked crossly and with a frowning 
brow, which he proceeded to mop. 

His company was not welcome. I knew of his aggressive 
religiosity and was afraid he might begin with it on me. If 
he did, I might not have patience to treat him civilly. How- 
ever, he had another purpose. 

” You won’t have got any word yet about going through ta 
Clay gate ? ” he asked. 


244 


THE STORY OP A PLOUOHBOY 


“ No,” I said. ” Is there something to be done there ? ” 
” It’s that fellow Baird ; he’s giving us trouble again. 
You know the house where our manager stays ? ” 

” Yes ; the brick house, you mean, standing clear of the 
village ? ” 

” Yes. It’s just on the edge of one of Baird’s fields. Well, 
Baird has made a coup in that corner of the field, right under 
Lockhart’s windows. To let you understand : he has a con- 
tract for the city ashpits ; well, he brings the stuff out by 
rail and dumps it there. The smell ’s enough to breed a pes- 
tilence. Lockhart approached him civilly on the subject, but 
he merely took his fun off him, said the coup must be there 
as that was the spot handiest to the railway. That’s not the 
reason. Any part of the farm would do as well, for the stuff 
has to be carted all over at any rate. It’s spite ; Baird has 
never forgiven us for proving him in the wrong about the new 
road. And here’s what shows it’s nothing but spite : this 
is the first year that Baird has made the coup there ; before 
that it was away from the houses altogether.” 

” So somebody is to go through and see it ? ” 

” You are. Admiral Seton will be speaking to you about it. 
It would have been seen to before now, but this strike has put 
other things in the background.” 

” Yes,” I remarked carelessly ; ” but I suppose it won’t be 

long now till it collapses. I see by the papers ” 

He interrupted me, straightening himself up and speaking 
with new energy : 

” I don’t want it to collapse,” and he struck the arm of 
the bench with his fist ; ” I want the strikers to hold out to 
the last ; I want them to hold out till they haven’t a penny ; 
I hope they’ll hold out till they’re starving. Once they really 
feel the pinch, it’ll teach them a lesson. They won’t be in 
such a hurry to strike again.” 

The outburst so astounded me that I could only gape. 
When I did find my tongue I mumbled something about 
strikes never doing much good. His passion was not yet spent. 

” They do this much good,” and he spoke with the utmost 
vehemence ; ” they’ll show working-people that they’re 

cutting their own throats. Very soon those strikers will be 
going round the country begging. I only hope the public 
won’t be soft enough to help them. If they’re allowed to 
starve, they won’t forget it.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


245 

Merely for the sake of saying something I observed that it 
was the wives and families one felt sorry for. 

“ They should think of that before they come out/' he 
rejoined as fiercely as ever. “ They can't expect to leave 
good work and have their wives and children kept by the 
public. And some of the wives are as bad as the men them- 
selves ; they egged on the strike.” 

The brutality of the man, a philanthropist and evangelist 
too, turned me sick. I knew well enough that plenty of his 
class had the same sentiments ; but they hid them, and that 
was something. I positively could not utter a word. 

However, the admiral had drawn near, wondering, no doubt, 
what had wrought his guest to such fury, and he had heard 
enough to know that we were talking of the strike. 

” Working-people are very foolish,” he said, as he stood 
opposite us ; ” their own worst enemies ; ” and he gave his 
head a jerk at every word. 

” It’s a case of carrying the full cup,” the manufacturer 
went on ; ” but they’ve got the wrong sow by the ear this 
time. I’m Lyon by name, and they’ll find I can be Lyon by 
nature ; ” and he clenched his mouth like a rat-trap. 

The very mixture of metaphors increased my disgust of 
the man, perhaps by showing up his vulgarity and ignorance. 
” Regardless of appearances,” as Miss Maymie would have 
said, I got up and made to join Reggie and his brother-in- 
law, though the company of the latter, a most supercilious 
gentleman, was noway agreeable to me, and my company, I 
knew, was not desired by Reggie. Ever since his first term 
at Oxford Reggie had entirely changed in his attitude to me. 
Our companionship was at an end, and I had the feeling that 
he looked on me with something like contempt. Why, I 
could not understand. Reggie, at this period, had not fallen 
in with his father’s ambitions. His great desire, as I some- 
times heard from Meiklejohn, with whom he was very con- 
fidential, was to be an explorer ; the late Lord Dunmore was 
his hero. Already he had been round the world, missing a 
University term for the sake of the trip. Admiral Seton had 
prayed that his son might never be a home-bird ; the prayer 
was like being answered, though hardly, perhaps, as the admiral 
meant. 


246 


THE STORY OF A PEOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXVli 

I T was a dull, still January afternoon when I was set 
down on Claygate platform and looked once more over 
the bleached bent, the dark stunted heath, the brown 
peat, the stagnant pools and goats. I shook my head 
and felt thankful that I lived far from such a dreary waste. 
Glancing to the village I noticed that the black smoke was 
surging from the stacks as if no check to trade had ever been 
known. While I stood passing a word with the stationmaster, 
who evidently recollected me, the music of a brass band came 
from the distance. The stationmaster explained that the 
strikers were playing in neighbouring villages to raise funds. 
His sneering tone showed, and was perhaps meant to show, 
that his sympathies were not with them. 

“ You’ve surely extra police,” I remarked, indicating three 
constables on the overbridge. “ Has there been rioting ? ” 
“ No ; but it’s best to be cautious. New men are coming 
every day and the strikers are not too well pleased.” 

At the office I found Mr. Lyon ; he seemed as energetic as 
ever. I was again invited to stay the night, and this time I 
declined at once. 

” Will you need a guide ? ” he asked, and I admitted that 
Mr. Rankin might be handy. I had not observed Rankin 
in the outer office and I was afraid he might be travelling. 

” He’ll be back from dinner directly ; ” and Mr. Lyon went 
to the door and ordered that Rankin should be sent in when- 
ever he arrived. 

I had dreaded that the manufacturer would discuss the 
strike. He began inquiring for the admiral, for Mrs. Seton, 
most particularly for Mrs. Matthias- James. I gave him in- 
formation he had not asked for, so anxious was I to keep him 
off the dreaded topic, but my small talk was nearly through 
when word came that Mr. Rankin was back. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


247 


The young fellow and I shook hands like life-long friends. 

“ No bad effects of your night in Carlisle 7 ” he asked 
laughing, as we started together. 

“ No ; but I enjoyed Atkinson ; ” and I told my friend of 
the meeting with the old dogger the next morning and of the 
letters he had sent. 

“ He’s an interesting old fellow,” Rankin admitted, ” and 
he has the root of the matter in him. He doesn’t mince his 
words either ; ” and he gave a laugh, in which I joined as 
I said, 

” He was too many for Trenery. But you’re in the thick 
of the industrial struggle here,” I went on, for I was as eager 
to hear about the strike from a sympathetic friend as I had 
been to avoid discussing it with Mr. Lyon. 

” We are ; ” and his manner became serious. “Yes, we are 
and no mistake,” he repeated ; but he seemed to have less 
zest for the talk than I. 

“ Wasn’t there something about evicting the strikers ? ” 
I asked. 

“ It’s done.” 

As he gave no sign of adding to the curt response, I inquired, 

“ Where are the people living ? ” 

“ There they are ; ” and he nodded in the direction of the 
main road. Some two furlongs outside the village was a 
row of tents and caravans which I had noticed before but had 
never connected with the strike. 

“ I thought they were shows,” I said. 

“ That’s their domicile in the meantime. The company 
got warrants to evict the strikers and their families, and the 
police came through and cleared them out.” 

“ So they took to tents and vans ? ” 

“ Yes ; the Miners’ Union provided those out of their 
funds. Though some of the families had been outside for a 
day and a night before that. Luckily the weather was mild 
for the time of year.” 

“ The people will be about destitute, I suppose ? ” 

“ I suppose so. Of course, there’s only a fraction of them 
in those quarters. A lot of the men got employment else- 
where as the strike went on, and they took their families away. 
Then some of them gave in when they saw their chance was 
hopeless and the places were being filled up.” 

“ You’re getting Russian Poles, I hear 7 , ” 


24S 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ We've got them. It was the only way to fill the places." 

" Have you many ? " 

" Nearly two hundred already, and more are coming. It’s 
going to make a change in many ways. If you had been a 
little earlier, you’d have seen a Russian baker’s van that 
comes from town twice a week to supply them with rye bread." 

" There’ll be bad blood between them and the strikers ? " 

"Yes," the clerk answered ; " though that'll likely die 
down. For one thing, the Poles are Catholics and the priest 
won’t let them be molested by their co-religionists.” 

" What sort of erection is this ? " I asked, indicating a 
long wooden shed just past the works. 

" That’s where the Poles were lodged when they first landed, 
before they could get into the houses. Some policemen were 
stationed all night here to guard the place, though I don’t 
know that they were needed. The unmarried Poles, those at 
any rate that are in no hurry to take up house, lodge here 
still.” 

We were not long of reaching the obnoxious coup, or rather 
its neighbourhood, for we did not venture too close. 

" I suppose," my friend remarked with a laugh, " you won’t 
be putting your tape over it ? " 

" No," I said ; " indeed, I hardly needed a guide this time. 
I might just have followed my nose." 

Rankin, who had been in America for a short time, declared 
that Baird was like the skunk — defending himself with the smell. 

We loitered about for a while, talking more of the strike 
than of the business that had brought us out. 

" The strike would never have a chance ? " I inquired, as 
we turned for the village. 

" Never the shadow of a chance, once the directors made 
up their minds. In fact, no strike has a chance nowadays. 
The masters are all combined like the men, and they have the 
capital and can hold out. The strike is played out in every 
trade. It’s an antiquated weapon. And the Trade Union 
itself is done for ; it’s as good as useless." 

" And how do you think Labour is ever to come to its 
heritage, as friend Trenery put it ? Or have you given up 
believing that it ever will ? ’’ 

" I don’t say that," said the young man, though I noticed 
an uncomfortable expression on his face ; " but it’s certainly 
jiot by the Union and the strike," 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


249 


“ How then ? " 

“ By Labour Representation. That’s the worker’s only 
hope. If they capture Parliament, they can make laws in 
their own interest, can say what shall belong to themselves, 
to the people.” 

” But old Atkinson would say that the very men they will 
choose to represent them and make laws for them, indeed, the 
very men they do choose, are not a great lot ; they’ve neither 
ability nor character ; they’re not likely to help anybody 
but themselves.” 

” Old Atkinson isn’t so far wrong as regards some of them, 
at any rate. We saw plenty of that in this very strike. The 
way the strikers were misled was incredible. How men of 
any intelligence didn’t see through it — and, mind you, some 
of those miners are sharp enough — beats me to know.” 

” There was a lot of deception, then ? ” I asked. 

” It was deception all through. First of all, when a strike 
was threatened, the labour agents persuaded our fellows to 
join the Coal-miners’ Union. This was supposed to be a great 
privilege to the fire-clay miners, who had never been in a 
Union before. They were made to believe that with a great 
wealthy Union at their back, they could defy the masters. 
But the Coal-miners’ Union reserved the right to stop the 
strike-allowance at any time if the funds were needed for their 
original members, the coal-miners.” 

” So that they could have held up the strikers at any 
moment.” 

” They could. And, as a matter of fact, they were likely 
to do it. For, as you would see, a strike was talked of among 
the coal-miners and, had it taken place, the funds would all 
have been needed for the colliers and our men would have 
been cut off.” 

” A very precarious position,” I remarked. 

” Wasn’t it ? Well, the agents assured our men that once 
they were in the Union no strike would be needed ; the 
directors would concede their terms. But the directors 
didn’t ; Mr. Lyon isn’t the man to make concessions. So the 
strike did take place. Then the agents said, ‘ It’s all bluff 
on the part of the directors. They’ll cave in within a week if 
you only stand firm. ’ The men did stand firm and the company 
didn’t cave in, as anybody that had the pleasure of Mr. 
Lyon's acquaintance might have known very well beforehand. 


250 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Then stories were circulated among the men of the enormous 
losses the company was suffering, heavy damages to be claimed 
for breach of contract, and so forth. A parcel of lies ; for 
all our contracts are taken with the strike clause. Then it 
was said that the shareholders were pressing the directors, and 
would force the directors, to come to terms with the men. 
That was another downright lie. Fact is, shareholders and 
all monied people are willing to make a sacrifice rather than 
yield to employees. Our shareholders, so far as I heard, 
never gave a grumble. After five weeks of stubborn holding- 
out on both sides came the news that we — that the company 
— meant to import foreign labour. That dismayed the 
strikers, and I believe they’d have needed little persuasion to 
approach the directors and sue for peace. But what did their 
agents do ? Assured them they had met the Poles at the 
wharf, had explained to the Poles, through an interpreter, 
what they didn’t know before, that they had been brought over 
to fill the place of workmen on strike ; the Poles at once 
refused to do such a dirty thing and demanded to be taken 
back to their own country ; the agents provided funds for 
their return passage and the Poles were shipped home at once. 
That was the story told the men at their meeting one day. 
The next day the Poles were at work here.” 

” Great heavens ! That’s almost past belief.” 

” Fact all the same. After that some of the poor beggars, 
the more intelligent and pushing, seemed to have their eyes 
opened, and they made preparations for leaving the district 
and looking for work elsewhere. A few broke away and asked 
their places back. But there were plenty who took in the 
agents’ bluff in spite of everything, and they hoped to win up 
to the day they were turned out of their houses.” 

The young fellow had spoken with a good deal of feeling. 

“It’s a shocking story,” I remarked, when he was silent. 
” The miners’ agents must have known better from the first, 
and I should say they were to blame for the dispute ever 
going so far. They must have blinded the miners, for the 
miners knew Mr. Lyon, and, as you say, anybody who has 
much acquaintance with that gentleman must know that he’s 
not the sort to be concussed by his work-people ; ” and I 
thought of his utterances in the picture-gallery, though I did 
not repeat them to my companion. j gg 

“ That’s so,” Rankin said. “He’s too fond of being master 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


251 


himself. Once he was in the struggle he would fight it out and 
stick at nothing. You see ! Turning women and children 
on to the high-road in the dead of winter ! ” 

Pretty hard,” I observed ; and partly to draw my com- 
panion out I added, “ especially for a religious gentleman.” 

Rankin gave a sneering ” Ha ! ” but that was all. 

Maybe I should not have said what I now did. My excuse 
is that the two of us had spoken frankly ever since our ac- 
quaintance began ; also, that I was concerned now about 
social questions and eager to know how others felt when 
forced to deal with them. A person who suspects the 
symptoms of a malady in himself has a morbid anxiety to 
question neighbours who have had it before. So I hazarded 
the question : 

” Look here, Mr. Rankin. Don't you find it unpleasant to 
be connected with men who do such things ? ” 

I was looking at him while I spoke. It would be his busi- 
ness training, I suppose, that helped him to hide his feelings ; 
a slight frown was the only sign that the subject was dis- 
agreeable. 

” It is unpleasant,” he admitted. ” Only we can’t help it 
so long as society is organised, or rather left unorganised, as it 
is just now. We’re all in it.” 

” More or less, no doubt. Still, with your opinions — to 
have to support a man who turns women and children on to 
the road ” and I shook my head and gave a laugh. 

” It isn’t pleasant,” he said again, this time in a sharp 
aggressive tone ; “ but you’re in the same position. You work 
for a man who is a director of the company and sanctions 
those measures. I daresay, indeed. Admiral Seton, if he were 
thwarted by his ploughmen, would treat them as harshly as 
Mr. Lyon does his miners. At any rate, he lives in luxury 
off their toil.” 

I had provoked the blow and, I daresay, deserved it. Still, 
it hurt me, so sore, indeed, that I had no heart to retaliate. 

” Maybe,” was all I said, and we walked on for some minutes 
in a silence that was painful to me at least. My companion, 
with the tact a commercial traveller might show, turned the 
talk by asking if I meant to stay overnight, and nothing more 
was said about the strike. 

” To see oorsel’s as ithers see us ” is not always pleasant ; 
perhaps it seldom is pleasant. It may be useful, though. 


252 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Rankin's sharp retort was the first thing to make me think 
seriously about the management of the Lowis property. I 
had been exercised about the Wiston natives, very likely be- 
cause the place and the people were strange. The condition 
of the Claygate workers had also interested me since my talk 
with Rankin at my first visit, and the brutal utterances of 
their master had forced me to pity them still more. Now, a 
chance word drew my thoughts homeward to the people I 
knew best, my own folk, in short. Admiral Set on, according 
to the clerk, was living on his ploughmen. The clerk would 
reason it out in this way. The rents from the Lowis farms 
were the foundation of the admiral's wealth, and the labour 
that really raised those rents was contributed by the workers 
on the land, the ploughmen, the cattlemen, the dairymaids, 
the odd labourers, male and female. The farmers, if you like, 
directed the work, more often they only drove on their hands, 
and their main function was to sell the produce for the biggest 
price going. Rankin was right, then ; it was the labourers, 
to give them one convenient name, the ploughmen, who fur- 
nished the admiral with his income. How they lived I knew, 
for I had lived with them. A bothy or a but-and-ben cottage 
was their home, a pound a week their pay. For this they had 
to rise at half-past five in the morning and be on duty till 
after eight at night, for, though their working-day was ten 
hours, they had to feed and groom their horses before and 
after being out of doors, and on many farms, the Mailing for 
one, they visited the stables every night at eight to give their 
pairs a final look. Still, it was not the wearing toil, the long 
hours, the meagre wage, that impressed me ; it was rather 
their dependent position. A farmer, or to go a step back, a 
laird, had them in his hands. Not, it is true, while the plough- 
man was in his best years, for a capable man of full vigour 
would seldom lack a situation. Though he lost one master, 
he could find another, if that is independence. Even this 
was impossible once he reached middle life. Greed for the 
last penn5rworth of labour made the farmers dispense with a 
man as soon as grey hairs began to show, and the cast-off 
drudge, aged before his time with work and exposure, drifted 
into the village and trusted to casual labour for a living. For 
most the end was the parish. On such men the admiral and 
his family lived, lived in luxury. These were the bowed 
figures that upheld his palace. Yes, Rankin’s words were true. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


253 


It took time to see all this. Solitary reflection helped me ; 
also talks with the only one I could speak freely to, my sweet- 
heart. The first time I was over at Aletown after my Claygate 
visit I had told my friends about the strike and the evictions. 
Mr. Fleniing, I recollect, listened in utter silence ; the young 
people pited the homeless families. When Nina and I were 
by ourselves, she remarked on my absent manner ; indeed, she 
had wonderful quickness in noting any unusual mood. I did 
not hide the cause ; I repeated some of Rankin's talk, par- 
ticularly the retort he had flung at me of aiding the admiral 
against the workers. 

“ That’s nonsense, Jim,” Nina said impatiently. ” You 
only do your duty. Somebody has to do a factor's work on 
an estate, else an estate couldn’t be managed at all.” 

” Certainly not as it's managed at present. But I suppose 
Rankin would say, at least his Socialist friends would say — 
for I’m not sure where he stands now — that estates shouldn’t 
be managed as they are ; they shouldn’t be in private hands 
at all, should belong to the people, or something like that.” 

” Rubbish ! Would that be fair to the admiral who has 
had the estate for ever so long, at least his people before him ? ” 

” The question would be. How did his people get it ? ” 

” Oh, that’s too far back. They have had it for generations 
anyway, and it would be robbery to take it from them now.” 

” But ” 

” But — it's quite true. So give me a kiss, Jim. You’ve 
hardly given me one to-night. Now we’ll go and sing some- 
thing.” 

But a trouble was gathering that was to perplex even my 
sweetheart. One Thursday in February I had just entered 
the mart when the principal of the firm, who must have been on 
the lookout for me, came up and after a word or two of greeting 
asked if I could look in at the office in five minutes or so. 

I thought little about the request ; the business would no 
doubt have to do with our traffic in live-stock. Five minutes 
later we were seated in his office. 

” Have you seen Ralston to-day ? ” he began. 

I had not ; I was newly in, I told him. 

“It’s about him I was wanting to see you,” he said. ” Of 
course, this is in the strictest confidence, Mr. Bryce.” 

” Certainly,” I assured him, though my heart boded trouble 
for my poor friend. 


254 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Stevenson was a short, stout, good-looking man, somewhat 
overiiifty, energetic and talkative. I had heard him speak 
on Conservative platforms, and he put as much vigour into 
his private conversation, talking very fast and loud. He 
had always been markedly affable to me, and never parted 
from me without leaving me well pleased with myself. That 
he could show another side of his character I once had amusing 
proof. I had dropped in to the Royal one evening for a glass 
of beer. No other customer was at the bar, and after I had 
given my order there was no talk between the waiter and 
myself. Voices came from the bar-parlour, and one I soon 
distinguished as Stevenson’s. He was talking with a Menteith 
factor, and was pressing him to procure a neighbouring land- 
owner’s custom for the mart. The factor, who was tipsy, was 
promising everything. Something passed about a farmer 
who was in difficulties, and Stevenson said, hardening his 
voice to correspond to the process he was describing, 

“ When you’ve got hold of a man, squeeze him like an 
orange ; don’t let him go so long as there’s a drop in him.” 

This was the gentleman who was now inviting me to discuss 
Mr. Ralston’s affairs. 

” Things are not bright with Ralston,” he went on ; ” but,” 
he said, interrupting himself, ” perhaps you can tell me this, 
Mr. Bryce, for it’ll decide whether I need say anything more 
or not. Is the admiral as keen as ever to get hold of Cam- 
buslochan ? He was very anxious at one time, I know.” 

” Well, really, Mr. Stevenson,” I answered with no apparent 
hesitation, ” I know very little of what’s going on at Lowis. 
I’m through in the south every week almost ” 

” I know. I know how much her ladyship trusts you,” 
the auctioneer interjected. 

” So that I haven’t the Lowis affairs at my finger-ends,” I 
resumed. ” The admiral was anxious for Cambuslochan at 
one time ; how he feels about it now — ^well, Mr. Meiklejohn 
would be the one to know. You’d better see him,” and I 
rose to go. 

” Sit down, sit down, Mr. Bryce,” said the auctioneer, 
making a gesture. ” We’ll take for granted that the admiral 
is in the same mind still. Now, what I want to tell you is this, 
Mr. Bryce : if he wants the place, now’s the time to get it, 
for Ralston’s in a corner.” 

I only said, “ Indeed,” and he went on. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


255 


Yes ; he’s in a proper hole, in fact. Of course, you know 
he had a case going on against a London company over that 
patent of his for adjusting cart-loads. The company failed, 
and they’ve practically nothing, so that Ralston is saddled 
with the expenses, and a thousand pounds won’t clear him.” 

” Good gracious ! ” 

“ The lawyers don’t work for nothing, Mr. Bryce. Now, 
Ralston bonded Cambuslochan to raise money for carr5dng 
on the case ; in fact, he took a second bond on it, for there was 
a mortgage on it already. And here’s how he’s in a fix. Just 
at the moment when he needs every penny to meet his ex- 
penses, the second mortgage is called up ; it seems the lender 
needs his money.” 

I divined some connection between this sudden call and the 
admiral’s desire for Cambuslochan. 

” That’s bad,” I managed to say. 

Stevenson continued, ” So he’s jammed, unless indeed he 
falls in with some other body that’ll advance the money. 
And he hasn’t long to find them.” 

” There’s no hope of the lender giving him time ? ” I 
asked. 

” He doesn’t think — I mean, there’s no likelihood of that. 
But to come to the point. Ralston is pretty deep in our books ; 
in fact, I could have trusted him to any amount, and it’s only 
of late that I found he was hard up. Now, if it’ll help your 
folks to get his place. I’ll lay him on his back to-morrow.” 

I was certain ere this who was his informant. Mr. Ralston 
had been pressed for a settlement and, taking the auctioneer 
for a friend, had told him about his affairs. That Stevenson 
should trade on information so obtained I might have doubted 
but for the words I had overheard in the Royal bar. The 
sickening disgust I had once felt at the brutality of the Clay- 
gate manufacturer came over me once more. 

” So if you bring my proposal before Mr. Meiklejohn or the 
admiral at once and let me know. I’ll see that Cambuslochan 
drops into the admiral’s mouth like a ripe plum. I should 
say the admiral ’ll be very pleased to hear the news. Don’t 
you think so, Mr. Bryce ? ” 

. I was in sore perplexity. To refuse would bring me into 
trouble, and for that I was not ready ; to comply was to 
hasten my friend’s ruin. Yet I was versed enough in business 
tactics to be able to hide my feelings. 


256 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOV 


“Well, Mr. Stevenson,” I said, rising as I spoke, “it’s an 
affair I don’t know much about, as I explained to you already. 
Your plan is to mention it to Meiklejohn direct — if — if you 
think it best to mention it,” I added, for even the last sugges- 
tion seemed an aid lent to my friend’s downfall. 

“ I certainly think it should be mentioned,” said the auc- 
tioneer, with a shade of surprise, it seemed to me, in his tone 
and look. “ Don’t you think so yourself, Mr. Bryce ? Doesn’t 
this look the very chance your people need ? ” 

“ Well, yes — possibly,” I stammered. 

“ For it just comes to this : if Ralston escapes this time, he 
may rally, you never know how, and the admiral may have 
to wait long enough for such another chance, if he ever gets 
it at all.” 

“ Well, that’s your plan, Mr. Stevenson,” I said in as 
decided a tone as I could command. “ If you’re quite satisfied 
that — that things are as you say, you had better speak to 
Meiklejohn, and- ” 

“ You’ll broach it, though,” Stevenson, interrupted with 
a deprecating gesture. 

“ But I’ll have to run,” I went on, pulling out my watch, 
and with a “ Good-day ” I hurried from the office. 

Stevenson kept talking as I made my escape, but his words, 
though they fell on my ears, did not reach my disordered 
mind. 

In my excitement I had only one wish — to be clear of the 
mart at once. There was no business, indeed, to keep me ; 
I had come into Craigkenneth that day from mere habit. 
The thought came to me that I might run down to Aletown 
and share my trouble with Nina. As I was making for the 
street, Mr. Ralston, who was standing in a group, hailed me. 
I could hardly trust my senses when I saw from his look and 
manner that he was flushed with liquor. Ralston was a most 
abstemious man, and the only thing I had heard him boast 
about was that he had never come out of his trap on a market- 
day without being able to walk in a straight line. My feeling 
was horror. I only stood with him a few seconds, then made 
for the gate. 

“ What’s the hurry ? ” he called in boisterous tones. 
“ Hold on ! I’ll be there directly ; ” but I only waved my 
hand and hurried out. 

For a minute or two I kept my hard pace, thankful for the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


257 


escape. Then doubts began to pester me. If my friend 
remained in the mart, he would drink more and be talked 
about. Probably he would blab his affairs and hurt himself ; 
yet this was not what affected me most, it was rather the 
thought of my friend, so respectable, so gentlemanly ,|making 
a fool of himself. But then, if I meddled, it would be riskyl 
Stevenson would certainly be told. I held on. Then the 
thought of the young wife at Cambuslochan, of little Bab and 
Harriet, came to my mind ; my pace slackened, I stopped, 
after a second or two I turned and — though with no very 
resolute or eager step — made for the mart. 

The knot of farmers was still near the gate, though it was 
somewhat changed. My friend was not in it. As I glanced 
about, one of the group asked if I was looking for Ralston, and 
he directed me to the refreshment-rooms. There was a noisy 
crowd inside, but I could tell Ralston’s voice above all the 
din. On observing me he made a sweeping gesture of welcome 
and cleared a space for me at his side. 

“ Thought you were off, never to see you more, ‘ off to 
Alabama with my banjo on my knee.’ Maggie ! Katie ! A 
half for this gentleman.” 

Though I knew the importance of humouring him, I pro- 
tested I could drink nothing. The mart whisky was poison ; 
besides, I had to keep my head. Ralston would not be denied, 
and the barmaid, who had waited for one of us to yield, pro- 
ceeded to fill up a glass from a bottle on the counter. As she 
emptied it into a tumbler, she made me a sign with her eye- 
brows, and on adding water and tasting the mixture I found 
she had supplied me with lime-juice. Thanking her with a 
look, I listened to my friend. 

Smart boy, this,” he was going on, indicating me to his 
neighbours ; “ cleverest hands in the county, bar none ; 

draw you anything while you wait ; draw your pretty face, 
Katie, for a kiss. Yes, and a good sort too ; I don't give a 
damn who talks against him. Yes, Jim ; there’s plenty have 
a lot to say about you, but I’ll stand up for you as long as 
I’ve a leg to stand on. Damned bad lot you’re in with, but 
I never saw anything but the clean tuber in you ; ” and so he 
was running on when I interrupted him : 

“ Well, Mr. Ralston, you can do me a good turn. Give me 
a lift home. I had to let the trap go back. It’s needed up 
yonder.” 


8 


258 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Damned bad lot that needs it ; but you’re all right, and 

I’ll drive you anywhere you like. But for the old fact, r 

or his admiral — admiral ! ho ! ho ! ho ! ” 

“ All right. We’ll start, then, if you’ve nothing more to 
do ; ” but it was not so easy to move him. He was in the 
sociable mood that comes to some men with liquor, and the 
company did nothing to help me. One farmer, who had come 
to one of our carse farms two years back, was with Ralston 
now as he had been outside. He was a fellow who carried 
stories to Meiklejohn, and I did not care to see him keep so 
close to my friend. 

When Ralston was out in the yard he walked almost steadily, 
and the only noticeable effect of the whisky was that he hailed 
every acquaintance and would stop to talk. On reaching the 
stables I gave the hostler a tip to hurry, for I was afraid 
Ralston might want more drink. Soon we were out. Ralston 
insisted on driving, and he sent the trap at a great pace through 
the busy street. 

On the run home he kept bragging about himself and his 
belongings, his pony, his turnips, his skill at bargaining — he, 
a man who disdained to speak of himself in his sober hours. 
He abused the Lowis authorities, more than once he mentioned 
McKerracher and muttered a curse, but he always stopped 
himself as if trying to keep uncomfortable thoughts away. I 
was doing the same. The story I had given Ralston was, of 
course, a fiction ; my pony and trap were still at the Royal 
stables. I should be remarked driving home in Ralston’s 
dogcart, and trouble might arise with my employers. 

When we drove into the yard at Cambuslochan, Mrs. 
Ralston and the children were there to welcome us. \^at a 
look in her eyes as she turned from her husband to me ! Not 
a word passed between the pair and she hurried the children 
into the house. I started to unyoke, and my friend, who was 
now quiet and somewhat sullen-looking, hung about me as if 
unwilling to face his wife alone. He asked me, indeed, to 
wait and I promised, but I only stayed a minute to explain 
to Mrs. Ralston that I was in haste. Ralston had gone to 
his room, so I was able to slip away. 

Instead of going home I went back to Lucas, borrowed a 
bicycle and rode down to the ferry. By five o’clock I was at 
Aletown. Nina was surprised and delighted, for she never 
had a visit on Thursdays, but when I told her of my 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


259 

perplexity she was also troubled. I put it to her in this 
way. 

“ If I don’t tell your uncle that Stevenson spoke to me^ 
Stevenson will tell himself. If I do tell, it’ll be helping them 
to trap Mr. Ralston. What am I to do ? ” When she did 
not speak, I went on, “ Suppose it were a friend of yours that 
was concerned, Nina, suppose it were Miss Round, and you 
had information that would give others a chance to hurt her, 
would you give them the information ? ” 

“No, I wouldn’t,’’ she answered promptly. 

“ So you think I shouldn’t either ? ’’ I suggested. 

“ Perhaps not, Jim. The auctioneer should speak to uncle 
himself.’’ 

“ Well, I’ll leave it there. He can complain if he likes, and 
your uncle and the admiral must just dismiss me if they’re 
not satisfied.’’ 

“No fear of that, Jim,’’ she laughed. 

“ But isn’t it disagreeable to be mixed up in such a busi- 
ness ? ’’ 

“ No doubt it is. Still, there are unpleasant things in 
every way of life and somebody needs to do a factor’s work. 
And most of the things you do are quite good and useful.’’ 

“ You’re of old Mitchell’s opinion, that a good factor is a 
boon to the community.’’ 

“ So he is. I’m sure, if it was other people than uncle and 
you that were managing the estate, they would be far harder 
on the tenants.” 

We left the question as settled and the rest of the evening 
was given to pleasanter talk. I could not wait overnight, for 
the pony and trap were still at Craigkenneth. It was late 
when I drove up the Lang Stracht, and as I passed Cambus- 
lochan, now quiet and dark, I felt that my heart would have 
been heavier had I joined the plot against my poor friends. 


26 o 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXVIII 

M y interview with Stevenson had an effect he could 
not have anticipated and I cannot explain. That 
it should have shown me the false relations between 
the big landlord and the small, Ahaband Naboth; 
that it should have made me feel more keenly than ever how 
degrading was the work of a landlord's tool — all this was to 
be expected. Here is the curious thing : from that market- 
day the condition of the working-people was my one concern. 
How could their subjection to a game-preserving landlord 
or a “ Captain of Industry ” be ended ? How could they 
become free ? The thought haunted me as years before I had 
been haunted by Miss Maymie's image. I felt it as the under- 
current of the mind even while I was at my duties, and when 
I was free it brimmed over. My own position, my own future, 
ceased to concern me. What might happen if Stevenson told 
the admiral of our interview gave me no care. 

It was from Mr. Ralston himself that I next heard about the 
Cambuslochan affair. About a week after, as I was going up 
the Lang Stracht one evening, he stopped me at the gate and 
asked me in. I excused myself, though we stood a while 
talking. 

“ I say, James,” he said abruptly, ” I’m afraid I made an 
ass of myself last Thursday. It was very good of you to look 
after me.” When I laughed it off, he continued, ” I had been 
upset by business matters and took the readiest means to 
forget them.” Then he went on to tell me what I knew 
already: the London company had failed and he would have his 
own law expenses to meet ; the bond on his property had been 
called up, and it was doubtful if he could raise the sum else- 
where ; people who could afford to wait for their money 
were pressing him. ” How it’ll all end is beyond my saying,” 
he concluded. “I’m telling you this, James, to reheve my 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


261 


mind, for I can’t speak of it to anybody else, can’t speak of 
it fully even to the wife. She knows things are bad, but she 
doesn’t know how bad.” 

He must have known I listened with sympathy, though I 
did not encourage his confidence. If I were asked about 
his affairs, I wanted to be able to say that I knew nothing. 

Whenever I was at Aletown it was Nina’s first question : 
had her uncle said anything about the auctioneer ? I had 
to smile at her anxiety ; she was more concerned for my 
prospects than I was. 

I was soon able to tell her that her uncle had spoken. 

She could hardly wait till I gave her the story. 

” What did he say ? ” 

" He told me first of all that Ralston was pressed for money. 
Then, that he understood Stevenson had been speaking to me 
on the subject.” 

“ Yes, Jim ? ” 

I admitted he had, but I had referred him to your uncle 
himself. Your uncle said Stevenson had given him to under- 
stand that. 

Did uncle seem angry ? ” 

” No. And I rather inferred that Stevenson hadn’t quite 
given me away. Perhaps he didn’t care to make an enemy 
of me. Anyhow, your uncle went on to say that, if the busi- 
ness was properly handled, he believed Ralston’s place would 
soon fall in to Lowis.” 

” And what did you say, Jim ? ” 

” Merely said Yes and No whenever I had to speak.” 

” What will they be meaning to do, Jim ? ” 

“ From what your uncle said I discovered a thing that had 
puzzled me before. I wondered why Mr. Ralston had got 
the second bond so easily at last when it seemed impossible 
for a while. I’m told now that his agents had been asked by 
our agents to find him the money so that he might be more 
thoroughly in his lawyer’s power. I suppose the client whose 
name was given as the lender would be a mere dummy figure. 
Well, when Mr. Ralston gained the plea, that would rather 
upset their calculations ; but when the London company 
failed, that suited them perfectly. McKerracher would get 
instructions at once to call up the mortgage. Then Stevenson 
must needs make things worse for poor Ralston by pressing 
him for a settlement of their account. The funny thing is 


262 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


that they don’t really need to do the admiral’s dirty work, 
for they have all his custom as it is ; only there are some people 
that must truckle to the great and kick the poor fellow that’s 
done.” 

” It’s really not nice the way Mr. Ralston has been used,” 
Nina said. 

” No, it’s not nice,” I assented with a bitter laugh. ” But 
that’s what factors and lawyers are for — to do not nice things 
for their employers.” 

” Oh no, Jim,” she protested. 

” It’s true. I’m speaking from experience. What do you 
think a factor is kept for, Nina ? ” 

” To manage the estate, of course ; let farms and so on.” 

” Quite a mistake, my dear girl. A landlord could often 
do that himself quite easily, on a small estate, at any rate. 
The factor is kept to do the dirty work — screw up tenants' 
rents, dismiss old workers, plot and scheme for getting small 
properties like this of Mr. Ralston’s. If a landlord had to 
manage his own estate and come face to face with all the 
poverty and hardship on it, and had to do all the cruel and 
unjust things himself, that would take away the pleasure. 
He shuts his eyes to that, though in most cases he knows 
there is hardship and cruelty ; he shuts his eyes and pays a 
factor to do the cruel things.” 

” That’s your imagination, Jim. I don’t believe a word 
of it.” 

” It’s true,” I maintained. ” I can see, too, it’s the same 
in business. Commercial travellers will be kept to do the 
dirty work of the firm, compete for orders, wheedle customers, 
bully debtors, and so forth. If the principal had to do all 
this, it would spoil his enjoyment of the profits. And so Mr. 
Lyon of Claygate makes my friend Rankin travel for him. 
Though I must say Mr. Lyon doesn’t strike me as a man who 
would be squeamish.” 

” That’s all rubbish you’re talking, Jim.” 

” It’s truth.” 

” It’s rubbish. For a traveller’s work is to get orders for 
his firm, and a factor’s is to see that everything is kept right 
on the estate. And they don’t need to lie and cheat and be 
cruel. They may be quite honourable men.” 

” A boon to the community,” I laughed. 

” Well, yes, they may be. For instance, the admiral might 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 263 

have factors who would be far harder on the people than uncle 
and you are/' 

I shook my head, but as usual left her the last word. 

Long afterwards, quite recently indeed, and most of all 
since I started writing my history, I have thought of this and 
similar conversations, and felt that they must have been 
trying to poor Nina. She may have feared that I was set 
against my work by the name “ toady ” she had once flung 
in my face. Had that been so, it would have been paying 
back a sharp and maybe light word with heavy interest. 

How could working-people be set free ? The question was 
with me always. My torture was not so acute out of doors, 
for Nature still interested me, and the sight of a flock of 
golden plover sweeping over the open fields, or of a solitary 
creeper hopping up the trunk of some young oak in the Satter 
Wood, made me forget all else for the time. So welcome was 
the relief that I would go out even in office-hours when my 
distress was growing unbearable. For excuse I told Meikle- 
john that a feeling of sickness came over me now and then and 
the fresh air did me good. He would recollect, I suppose, that 
I had been troubled in this way some years before, and would 
attribute the weakness to the old cause, my ill-usage at the 
Mailing. Anyhow, he enjoined me to go out for a stroll 
whenever I felt the need. 

Worst of all was the “ two-o’clock-in-the-morning " struggle. 
When I woke after my first sleep the terror would start, and 
soon mastered me. All blackness ! No hope for the world, 
the world indeed getting worse, and I helping in the evil 
work and bound to help the more as more power came into 
my hands. Many a thought-haunted soul, I daresay, has 
dreaded the turn of the night. It is at that hour that the 
spectre we would fain forget rises and triumphs over our 
helplessness. Once my fear grew so awful that it was driving 
me mad, and to save my senses I threw on some clothes and 
rushed out of doors as if chased for my life. For minutes 
after I was in the open air I knew nothing distinctly, and it 
was only the rustling of pheasants among spruce-boughs 
that restored me to myself and taught me that I was at the 
Den. After that I flew to this refuge when assailed at the 
dark hours. How often have I wandered the country roads 
or the trackless woods hours before the first labourer was astir ! 
Two nights, above all, return to me. One was frosty and 


264 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


clear, the full moon so bright that it made the stars mere 
points of sparkling light. I was on the road beside the Dale 
Planting, a small wood not far from the Mailing farm, the very 
wood, indeed, where I buried the pheasant’s feathers long, long 
ago. The night was exceedingly quiet, with the silence that 
I have often remarked in time of frost. Suddenly on the 
still night air rose a wild piercing shriek, “ Pee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee- 
ah ! ” several times repeated. It thrilled me like a cry of 
" Murder ! ” on a lonely street. Only for an instant, however ; 
the next, I recognised it for the cry of a wild creature in distress. 
Guided by the cry that was renewed at intervals I made 
towards the middle of the wood, and at last caught the sound 
of a scuffle and rattle. I struck a match and had just time 
to see a rabbit plunging into a hole, dragging a trap behind. 
With some difficulty I hauled the trap out and got my foot 
on the spring. The moment the iron teeth relaxed their 
clench, the rabbit whipped out its bleeding hind-leg and 
vanished in the burrow. The little adventure lightened my 
gloom. 

The other night was strangely different. For a week a 
storm had raged, the hurricane sometimes lulling by day but 
invariably rising at night. This night it was at its wildest. 
Our little lodge, though low and sheltered, seemed beset by 
a host trying to force doors and windows in, and the boom 
of the south-wester as it struck the walls was like a thunderclap. 
I went out an hour before midnight and wandered up the west 
avenue and on to the walks above the house. You would 
have thought the dark woods were alive with people ; the 
air was full of roaring, whispering, sobbing, whistling, soughing, 
swishing, with at times the crashing and rending of boughs. 
Near the burn, that I could hear rushing and splashing and 
gurgling, my cap was swept high in air and would find, I 
daresay, a watery grave. As I was returning after a wild 
wandering of two hours, the sleet was like to cut my cheeks 
open, the wind rushing down the glades tossed me about, and 
at every step I was tripped with fallen branches. The last 
part of the journey was made in a daze ; my head was dizzy, 

I staggered as if drunk. Yet the rage of the storm had calmed 
my anguish somewhat, for on reaching home I was able to 
sleep. 

As spring advanced and dawn began to gain on the dark, 
there was more to relieve my sombre thoughts. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


265 


Interesting it was to see the farm or cottage chimneys 
beginning to smoke. Lowis Mains was invariably the first, 
the Mailing was usually the last among the dairy farms. If 
I was late of returning, I would meet some country worker 
or maybe a keeper. They would conclude, I suppose, that I 
was on the prowl. Had I been, there was plenty to see. Once, 
near the spot where I had spied little Colina, I came on Nisbet 
bending beneath a huge sack. He heaved it among the bushes 
on seeing me, and when I came up he was too confused to 
answer my greeting. I was embarrassed also, and to carry 
off the awkwardness I remarked that I was out to see if the 
swallows had come yet. They often appeared about that date, 
the twentieth of April. 

“ I saw the first one just now,” he said eagerly, ” over at 
the Maiden’s Rest. Only one, though. If you go across 
you’ll very likely see it.” 

I did go round, but saw no swallow. The keeper’s story 
may have been false, made up to get me away. For some 
time after he was uncomfortable-looking whenever we met. 
I did not inform on him or even look into the affair ; such 
things did not concern me now ; gloomy despair was closing 
me in. I sought the help of drink and tobacco. The smoking 
did soothe me, I daresay, and the whisky, which I took at 
bedtime, procured me a few hours’ sleep. Then would come 
the night-agony which the reaction perhaps aggravated. To 
one in mental torment drink is a fearful temptation. It 
makes us forget — for the time ; it gives us sleep — also for 
the time. Free and continued indulgence deadens the very 
sense of suffering ; only it deadens the sense of so much else. 
Certainly, I was like to become a drunkard. 

One afternoon late in April I was in Craigkenneth making the 
round of the Royal Park, for golf was one of my allies against 
the invisible foe. As I was about to cross to the club-house 
for my cycle, I passed a group of loafers seated on the bench 
at the park gate. One rose and stopped me. It was Liddell. 

” I say, Mr. — Mr. Bryce ; ye’re aye keepin’ yer eye on 
that ? When are ye gaun to nick him ? ” 

The fellow was pretty drunk. I had forgotten him and Big 
Pate and our schemes of vengeance ; I did not even know if 
Meiklejohn was keeping watch on Mackinlay and his neigh- 
bour. However, to get clear of the fellow I assured him that 
Mackinlay was not lost sight of. 


266 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ No, by God ! he’ll no be lost sicht o’. By God ! I’ll tear 
his liver oot ; ” and he uttered the most sickening curses, 
declaring, to end with, that he was content to burn in the pit 
to-morrow if he saw his enemy burning five minutes before 
him. 

Though I had edged him away from his mates I could not 
shake him off or even get on to the road. I asked if he wasn’t 
at the railway sheds now. 

He gave a wild laugh of scorn, and with fresh curses informed 
me that More had sacked him for letting a box down. 

“ Said I was drunk. Damned lie ! I can take a hauf, 
Mr. — Mr. Bryce, you ken ; I’ve haen twa three haufs the day. 
But I was as sober as you are that day ; strike me deid if I 

wasna. And the auld gied me the road. But I can lauch 

at them a’. I’ll mak’ a livin’ oot among their feet. D’ye 

ken what I’ll dae, Mr. — Mr. Bryce ? I’ll be a detective. 

God’s truth ! I’ll spy on folk and get hush-money. D’ye 
see that big fellow wi’ the pock-marked face ? He lives that 
way. He watches folk gaun into hooses in the Wynd, and 
as sune ’s they come oot it’s ‘ Hauf-a-croon or I’ll expose ye.’ 
Easier than handin’ a ploo, ay, or liftin’ boxes, Mr. — Mr. 
Bryce.” 

Ere this I had got out of the park and across the road, with 
him hanging on to me, and I now escaped by slipping him a 
shilling. I was shocked at the change in the man. Only a 
year or two ago and he was a sober, industrious workman : 
now he was a monster. My horror was the greater, I doubt 
not, from a hidden consciousness that I had helped to make 
him what he was. To what lengths the mania of hate will 
drive its victim ! My connection with Big Pate and Liddell 
had already shown me that an}/ person, if watched closely 
enough, will give openings for attack. I now saw the other 
side. The hunter suffers as well as his prey ; in a different 
way, certainly, but perhaps a worse. 

The encounter affected me deeply, serious as were my other 
troubles at the time. The spectacle of the drunken degraded 
wretch turned me against drink. If I should become such a 
being ! I can be firm in some things and I resolved that drink 
should not make me its victim. I allowed myself a glass of 
beer at dinner and a small whisky at bedtime ; not another 
drop did I touch when alone. 

Love, and woman’s love especially, has a keen eye. Nina 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 267 

had seen for a while that I was not myself. She spoke to me, 
prescribed rest, change, and the common specifics we recom- 
mend our friends ; above all, she hinted plainly that someone 
closer than my old landlady was needed to take care of me. 
Though my talk should have taught her that I was greatly 
exercised about the relation of rich and poor, Nina did not 
seem to understand that this might be my trouble. Perhaps 
few women can believe that any general question of the sort 
can unsettle a man. Most will fancy the cause must be some- 
thing personal — ill-health, bereavement, disappointed love, 
or the like. Nina was convinced it was ill-health with me, the 
effect of ill-usage in boyhood, and she kept urging me to see 
a doctor, their own doctor by preference. Making full 
allowance for her sex, I still wonder that her feelings had so 
little in common with mine. One thing she said that I can 
never forget. I had been telling her about a new reservoir 
that was to be made up the moorlands ; the admiral demanded 
six thousand pounds for a small piece of hill pasture let at 
five shillings the acre. 

“ Well, but the land is his,” Nina said. 

” Why is it his ?” I asked. 

” Because his people left it to him.” 

” Who gave it them to leave ? ” 

” Oh, Jim, that’s going too far back. Besides, they bought 
some of it. I’ve heard uncle say they bought a lot of the 
carse land and paid far too much for it too.” 

” I know. They bought it from the Forresters. Who gave 
the Forresters the right to own it and sell it ? ” 

” Oh, Jim, shut up ! You know you’re talking rubbish.” 

” I mean it, Nina. I see that there’s something far wrong 
in allowing one person to have so much land and do as he likes 
with it. I don’t know what should be done to change the 
thing, but I should like to see something done.” 

Jim,” she said earnestly, ” don’t you say such things. 
Do you know, Jim, if I thought you were going that way 
I’d rather see you dead.” 

The Ralstons had few chances of seeing me, for I kept away 
from their house. So I was not prepared for Mr. Ralston 
greeting me as he did one afternoon when we met on the 
Craigkenneth road. 

” My wife is in a state about you, James. She saw you 
in Craigkenneth last Thursday and came home quite upset. 


268 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Said you were like a ghost. And it’s a fact that you’re not 
looking yourself. By Jove ! if you were in my shoes I could 
understand it. But a young fellow like you, with no worries, 
should have more red in his cheek. Have you seen Finlay ? 
Youngsters are apt to neglect themselves and think they can 
stand anything. You’re run down a little, and you should 
look after yourself at once.” 

I was touched to see that my friends, with all their own 
troubles to vex them, could spare a thought for another. In 
this way, too, their kindness was a comfort : it showed they 
never doubted me. Though I was associating daily with the 
men that were scheming against them, this pair knew that I 
was not in the plot. Sometimes I have been charged with 
things I was clear of ; sometimes, more seldom though, I 
have had credit I did not deserve ; here I got justice. How 
rare that is most men know. 

The net was closing on my poor friend. His powerful 
neighbour had advised the auctioneer to give Ralston a 
respite. McKerracher’s people had also found that the bond- 
holder was prepared to wait. Meanwhile they urged their 
client to take the admiral’s offer ; it was his one chance of 
escaping bankruptcy. With a man of Ralston’s character 
this consideration would be weighty ; but he had come to 
suspect that his agents were betraying him, and he declared 
his readiness to face bankruptcy rather than part with his 
place at the figure. Here was a turn quite unlooked for. Cer- 
tainly, the admiral’s offer — £4,000 for a farm of sixty acres — 
was good market-value. Ralston asked £100 per acre over 
head and would look at nothing less. It was no secret by 
this time that Cambuslochan was likely to change hands, and 
rumours of all sorts were abroad ; the admiral had bought it, 
the admiral had given up the fancy for it, and so on. Now a 
disquieting story of a different sort was running the country- 
side ; a fruit-grower from Sparkwell, a place two or three 
miles to the west of Craigkenneth, had his eye on it for a 
fruit-farm. It was certainly true that this grower had been 
at Cambuslochan and had gone over the ground ; I knew, 
too, that Meiklejohn was aware of the visit. One morning 
he handed me a letter forwarded from Sawers. It was from 
Ralston in answer to a renewed offer for Cambuslochan, 
Ralston begged to inform them that if any letter reached him 
in future ofiering less than the sum he had fixed, namely, 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


269 

£100 per acre, he would not acknowledge it ; also, any 
communication relating to this matter must be directed to 
himself and not to his solicitors. 

“Do you know, James if, Cowbrough of Sparkwell is putting 
in for the place ? “ he asked. 

I could answer truthfully that I did not know. 

“ That looks as if Ralston had other offers,” said the factor 
with a very sour face ; “ he’s so very independent. Wouldn’t 
you take that out of the letter ? ” 

I admitted it was possible, and Meiklejohn then men- 
tioned, what I already knew, that Cowbrough had been 
over. 

In my light-hearted days I should have chuckled at my old 
chief’s perplexity ; now I was too sore burdened, and this 
business was not to close till a further load was thrown on me 
that was like to crush me to the ground. 

Admiral Seton would visit the office twice and thrice a day 
at this period, and one afternoon, when he had been closeted 
with Meiklejohn for half an hour, I was called in. 

“ We’ve some business for you here, James,” the admiral 
jerked out. “ I’ve made up my mind to buy Cambuslochan, 
and the only question is, how to buy it on the best terms. 
Now, we both think that you have the tact to manage the 
affair, and here’s what you’ve to do. Show him that paper. 
Meiklejohn,” he went on, addressing the factor — “ yes. Just 
look over that, James.” 

The slip of paper, in the factor’s writing, was to this effect : 

“ I hereby agree to sell my property of Cambuslochan to 
Admiral Seton for the sum of ” 

“You see, James,” the admiral continued, “ the space for 
the figure is left blank, and this is where your tact will be 
shown. I’ve already offered Ralston four thousand pounds 
for the place. You repeat that offer, and if you can persuade 
him to close with it fill up the blank and have the paper 
signed on the spot. If he absolutely refuses and you see 
persuasion is useless, increase the figure a little, by fifties, say, 
at a time, always giving him to understand that every offer 
is the final one. Then leave him with that a while. Then if 
— as I hope and trust will not be the case — but if he sticks 
for the ridiculous sum, £100 per acre, he has already asked, 
give him it and be done with it. But remember this, James : 
the matter is to be settled before you leave him. Settle 


270 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


it for as low a figure as you can ; but don’t part with him till 
it is settled. Now, you understand, James ? ” 

I could not utter a word. Meiklejohn suggested to his 
employer, 

“You spoke of having it settled to-night, sir.” 

” True. I want it settled to-night, James. Go down to 
Ralston’s this evening, just in a friendly way, as if for a chat. 
Bring the talk round to the sale, as I’ve no doubt you’ll be 
able to do very nicely, and clinch the thing. I’m tired of 
waiting ; indeed, any delay now might interfere with my plans. 
So you have it settled this very evening, James.” 

By this I had rallied enough to make an attempt at escape. 
Why did I not say outright, ” No. Do your dirty work 
yourself ? ” Alas, alas ! What I did say, with a sickly smile 
and lame utterance, was, 

“I’m afraid, sir, I couldn’t make a very good business of 
it. Wouldn’t it be better to give it to someone with more 
experience and — and more skill at — at that kind of work ? ” 

I had ventured a glance at the factor, and he promptly 
answered it in his quiet, serious way : 

” No, James. You remember that letter of Ralston’s de- 
claring that he wouldn’t listen to any of our business people 
who made him a lower offer. So he can only be approached 
in a friendly way, and I’m quite sure, as Admiral Seton says, 
that if he can be handled at all you are the one to do it.” 

“No doubt of it. And I’ll be down first thing to-morrow 
to hear the result ; ” and the admiral gave me a nod to intimate 
that the conference was over. 

Seated at my desk, I tried to compose my disordered 
thoughts. If I had received a staggering blow I could not 
have been more helpless. In a few minutes the admiral 
came out of Meiklejohn’s room and passed us with a cheery 
“ Good-day,” and my brain was still in a whirl. As I grew 
calmer, there rose again and again the suggestion, “ Tell 
Meiklejohn you refuse to go,” and all the while I knew that 
the words would never be spoken. Meiklejohn went off 
before five, leaving me to lock up, and I said to myself that 
when the lads were gone I should consider the affair in solitude 
and come to some resolve. The delay brought me no rest ; I 
kept pacing the floor even after I saw from the lads’ glances 
that they remarked my agitation. When they did leave I 
sat down determined to think strenuously of some escape, 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


271 


but such wild fancies thronged on me that I had to lock 
the office and rush out in a panic. I turned to the woods, 
though, for anything I noted there, I might as well have been 
deaf and blind. When I woke from my stupor I was stand- 
ing at the Maiden’s Rest. It was the season when the place 
would be at its sweetest, and I do recall that there was sun- 
light on the water and that the wild-fowl were swarming. 
But this was known only as in a dream. The woodland 
lake seemed no longer a nook to be haunted for its beauty : 
it had another use and meaning. The thought insinuated 
itself among my disordered fancies, like an adder lifting its 
head above the heath, “ Is not this the escape ? Is not this 
the way a coward can get out of it all ? ” And as the great 
gulf of space into which they look down tempts the weak- 
headed to throw themselves from the tops of towers, so the 
tranquil waters fascinated me and were drawing me in, till 
by a supreme effort I turned and fled. Even as I hurried 
away I remembered, in spite of myself, how, years before, 
the same lone spot had seemed to promise me refuge, and 
the awful question would rise. Was this my fate ? Was 
this my doom, the doom there was no escaping ? As I 
made, almost involuntarily, for home, I still knew nothing by 
the outward sense, but I can recall that one thought was 
dominant : I am a proved coward, I am no man, I am a craven 
who has fled from battle. My old landlady was at the gate 
looking for me, and I had to go in. I drank some tea but could 
not eat, and Mrs. Paterson, when she came in to clear the table, 
asked if there was anything wrong. 

I told her I wasn’t hungry, that was all. 

“ You’re looking far from well, Mr. Bryce,” said the old 
lady, who had been concerned about my health for some 
time. ” Is there anything else I could make for you ? ” 

I had never before aclmowledged that anything ailed me, 
but now her words gave me an idea and I admitted that I was 
not quite myself. Her first suggestion, I knew, would be 
that I should go to bed. I feigned reluctance and let her 
urge me ; at last I lay down after bathing my feet in hot 
water and mustard, and when I was in bed she brought me 
gruel laced with a stiff glass of whisky. My idea was to find 
escape from my difficulties in shamming illness — an ignoble 
escape, certainly, though not altogether free from risk. 
Meiklejohn and "the admiral might have suspicion, at any 


272 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


rate they would be annoyed that I had fallen ill at this 
inopportune moment. Whether the whisky or the hope of 
escape had given me new heart I cannot say ; I do know that 
I fell asleep with a settled resolve to let the admiral or his 
factor do the dirty errand which I had shirked. At the 
dreaded hour beyond midnight I woke, but soon went to sleep 
again. It was the best night I had had for weeks. 

In the morning I assured Mrs. Paterson I was feeling better, 
and this was true. She advised me to keep my bed for a day. 
This was the suggestion I had been waiting for ; again I 
feigned reluctance, again I let myself be overruled. My 
landlady promised to send the office-keys and a message by 
the boy who brought our milk. Meiklejohn came along soon 
after ten ; he appeared to have no suspicion, and he showed 
himself seriously concerned about my illness. Indeed, before 
he got the length of my room, Mrs. Paterson had given him 
an alarming account of my symptoms, so that I needed to do 
nothing but look the invalid. 

“ You wouldn’t get down to Ralston's, of course ? ” he 
asked, as he sat at my bedside. 

I said No ; I had not felt well all day, and the feeling had 
got so bad when I came home that I went to bed at once. 

‘‘ You’ll find the note of sale in the breast-pocket of my 
jacket there,” I told him, ” if you want to do anything 
with it.” 

He did not take it, and he could not help saying that it 
was unfortunate I had broken down just then. 

” Though we can’t help illness,” he added, ” and you must 
give yourself a chance, James, now that you are in bed. 
Don’t rise till you’re feeling all right. I’ll ’phone for Finlay 
to come up to-day and see you.” 

” Better wait and see how I go on to-day,” I said. ” If 
I’m no better I’ll send along to the office before closing-time, 
and you can ’phone then.” 

“You should have taken a rest before now,” my friend 
said, and indeed he had recommended a holiday more than 
once. “I’m inclined to think, though, that’s it a touch of 
influenza. Mrs. Paterson tells me you were sick and shivering 
— common signs. However, I’ll tell the admiral you’re feeling 
better. He may be waiting for me at the office already.” 

I was not sorry influenza had been mentioned. The 
admiral dreaded the complaint, for he had suffered badly 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


273 

from it in two visitations. It was not likely he would come 
near me. 

Mrs. Meiklejohn called in the afternoon with some dainties 
and took a message for her husband that I felt myself easier 
and should not need the doctor that night. 

The evening wore in without more visitors. About eight 
o’clock I heard Mrs. Paterson speaking to someone at the 
door, and in a little she came into my room and told me that 
a gentleman was asking for me. I inquired who it was. 

“ It’s,” called out a harsh voice, ” Gillespie from Sawers’s 
office. But don’t let me bother you if you are not up to the 
mark.” 

I told him to come in. Gillespie was our agents’ manager. 
He was a dark, stout fellow, with a good deal of energy and 
much assurance. 

After he had condoled with me on my illness and explained 
that he had just called in passing to inquire for me, he went on, 

” Mr. Meiklejohn ’phoned in for me this afternoon, and I’ve 
just been up at the house getting my instructions from him 
and the admiral. They want me to make a bargain with 
Ralston about his place. You were to try it if you had been 
well enough. It seems he’s rather a touchy customer, but I 
suppose he’ll be civil enough ? ” he added, with a note of 
inquiry in his coarse voice. 

” Certainly ; you’ll find him quite civil,” I assured him. 

” You see. I’ve never had any dealings with him except 
by letter. If there was any tip you could give me, I might 
find it useful.” 

I told him I could think of nothing to help him, and that 
any hints would be needless ; he would know far better than 
I how to manage such an affair. 

“ Oh, well, I daresay I’ve handled worse customers,” he 
said, with a self-satisfied air, and after wishing me a speedy 
recovery he took his leave, explaining that he must see to the 
business ere it grew late. He did not ask for the paper, and 
I concluded he had been furnished with a copy. 

It was a great comfort to be quit of the loathsome task. 
To be quite candid, I must confess to being touched in my 
vanity at finding that my place had been filled so soon. Still, 
the feeling of rehef was the dominant one, and the best proof 
of this I can give is that I was soon asleep and slept the whoie 
night through. 


T 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


274 

How Gillespie sped in his mission I was soon informed ; 
the fullest account was given me by Mr. Ralston himself in 
his own house. 

“ When Gillespie called/’ he told me, “ I was in the parlour 
with the wife and bairns, and I took him in there, as it was 
the only room where we had a fire. 

‘ Don’t bother to go out, Mrs. Ralston,’ he said. ‘ I 
shan’t be a minute.’ And after a little talk he explained that 
he had called about the sale of our place. The admiral 
was still prepared to give four thousand for it. I told him 
his people had been informed that I wouldn’t say another 
word about the sale unless my figure was forthcoming. 

“ ‘ That was ? ’ he asked. 

" ' £100 an acre.’ 

* But that’ll run to something like £ 6 , 000 / 

“ * Fully that,’ I said. 

“ ‘ Now, look here, Mr. Ralston, you know as well as I do 
that that’s out of the question. Gf course, your place lies 
in to Lowis, and so the admiral is offering more than it would 
fetch in the market ; but you know yourself that £ 6,000 or 
anything like it is ridiculous.’ 

' Then say no more about it,’ I told him. ‘ I’m not 
inviting offers for the place.’ 

“ ‘ No. But here’s what we’ll do, Mr. Ralston. Although 
£4,000 is a high figure, yet in the circumstances I’ll take the 
risk of making it guineas. Now, I’m going beyond my com- 
mission, but you’re sure of the money though the odd two 
hundred should come out of my own pocket. There you are now. ’ 

‘ £100 an acre.’ 

“ ‘ £4,200,’ he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard me. ‘ And 
that’s a price that was never offered for land in this district.’ 

“ I just shook my head to let him know it was useless. 
Then he begins gabbling about the admiral being flooded with 
offers of property if he were known to be giving such a figure. 
However, I stopped him. 

** ‘ Look here,' I said. ‘I’ve a habit of meaning a thing 
when I say it. I’ve told you what I want for the place ; you 
can’t give me that ; so I’ll not listen to another word yoi. say 
on the subject.’ 

“ He didn’t speak for a little. Then he said, with a sort of 
smile as if my terms were too absurd for anything, ‘ So that’s 
your last word ? ’ 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


275 


That’s my last word.’ 

“ * £100 an acre ? ’ 

‘‘ I nodded. 

Then we’ll give it you ; ’ and he whips a paper from his 
pocket. ‘ We’ll better sign it and be done with it ; ’ and out 
comes his fountain-pen. 

“ I was so flabbergasted that I couldn’t say a word. The 
fellow has the paper laid on the table, the pen stuck in my hand 
and I felt as if I were dreaming. Though I did glance over 
the paper and could make out the words plainly enough, 
I really wasn’t taking in the sense, and I signed my name 
hardly knowing what I was doing. Even after I had seen the 
fellow away and had come back to the parlour, Harriet and 
I stared at one another and could scarcely speak. You may 
know it was pretty bad when her ladyship lost the use of her 
tongue,” ended Mr. Ralston, smiling at his wife. 

” It was only after I came to myself,” he added, “ that I 
understood why he had wanted her to remain in the room. 
The infernal rascal had been afraid that, when I got the sum 
I asked, I might draw back and ask more still. That’s what 
he would have done, no doubt. And he would think I could 
hardly back out before my wife.” 

Long ere Mr. Ralston gave me the full story I had heard of 
the bargain being struck. Meiklejohn called with th^ news 
the day after. Wonderful how soon the influenza left me 1 
I was at work the next morning. 


276 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXIX 

H OW impossible for women to understand men ! As 
impossible, I suppose, as for men to understand 
them. Nina could not see that my concern about 
social wrongs was as deep as my life. She would 
lose patience and declare that I had let myself be carried 
away by a lot of rubbish in books ; or, again, that I had taken 
up those ridiculous notions because I wanted to be different 
from any other body. She handled me very injudiciously, 
poor thing ! I may say that now. She watched for every 
remark that betrayed my peculiar opinions, and met it with 
feminine logic, as if determined to keep me from moving an 
inch on the way I was heading. Or she would try to lead me 
captive, would plan for the future, tell me how she would like 
our drawing-room furnished, and so on. I felt then like a 
led puppy. At times she would seem to forget everything 
but her love for me, would ask in tender reproach, “ Do you 
love me as much as ever, Jim ? As much as when I sang at 
Parkend ? ’’ And when I tried to reassure her, she would say. 
Ah ! I don’t think you do.” That was trying, for it touched 
my pity ; still, it repelled me. With it all, I was strongly 
attached to her ; we had courted so long that we had become 
a habit to each other. Though I was often uncomfortable 
when with her, I was restless and lonely away from her, and 
if she gave a sign of flirting with a rival my jealousy was 
up at once and took long to be laid. When we were alone 
together, I kept very much to local gossip ; that was safe, 
and was more comfortable than other talk. But it must 
have been cold and unsatisfying to poor Nina. 

In May I was in London, going on from Wist on. Admiral 
Seton hved now in great state ; why, it was not easy to under- 
stand. My own belief was that Mrs. Matthias- James, who 
stayed with her father when in town and had often to do the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


277 


honours of the house owing to her mother’s delicate health 
was the instigator Her plea might be that Reggie’s interest 
called for such show. The night of my arrival there was a 
reception to which I had been invited. The Setons would 
think it a treat for me to attend such a function, and at one 
time it might have been. Now I saw too clearly how this 
prodigal luxury was maintained, and I slipped away as soon 
as I decently could. My host and his family were too much 
occupied with more distinguished guests to miss me. The 
next day I had to appear at Wilton Crescent and report on 
estate business to Admiral Seton and Miss Maymie. The 
admiral had some other engagement, however, and my inter- 
view with him had to wait till next day. The marchioness 
was present, and at lunch she remarked that I had left early 
the night before. 

I gave as excuse that I had not felt altogether well. Indeed, 
the plea was not false. 

After lunch the marchioness, who kept a keen eye on her 
property, had to hear all that I thought important. When 
business was exhausted, she said, 

“ You were certainly not looking well last night, James, 
and papa tells me that Mr. Meiklejohn has been speaking 
to him about that. You ought to take a good long 
holiday. Papa and I are both anxious that you should, 
and we must just try to do without you for a time,” she 
added, smiling. 

I thanked her, but said I had no wish to be away for long : 
I didn’t feel the need of change. 

” There’s nothing worrying you, is there, James ? ” the 
marchioness inquired. “ That’s often worse than ill-health ; 
indeed, it soon brings on ill-health.” 

” Well ” I began. 

” I thought so,” she interrupted. ” I could read in your 
face that you were in trouble. If you care to tell me, James, 
it might be a relief to you, and certainly if you can show me 
how I can help you it will be a great pleasure to me.” 

I thanked her again, and was hesitating as to the best way 
to begin my story, for I felt drawn to give her my confidence, 
when she said, 

” You and Miss Fleming are still good friends, I hope ? ” 
And when I involuntarily contracted my brows and did not 
at once reply she went on, “ Have I guessed right again. 


278 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


James ? I do trust nothing is wrong ; but if a friend can do 
anything, you may depend on me.” 

“ It's not altogether easy to explain what’s wrong, Lady 
Soar,” I said at last. ” The truth is, there’s nothing directly 
wrong between us. Here is what is causing the trouble : 
I’m not altogether comfortable in my position, not altogether 
satisfied with my — my work, and — and ” 

” I thought, James, that you and Mr, Meiklejohn got on 
admirably together. I know he thinks most highly of you.” 

” It’s not that. In fact, if I didn’t get on with Mr. Meikle- 
john, it would be all my own fault. It’s ” 

” Perhaps your salary is not sufficient ? indeed. I’m sure 
it can’t be for all you have to do.” 

” It’s quite sufficient, Lady Soar. At any rate, it quite 
satisfies me. The trouble is about another thing altogether. 
I’ve — I’ve come to hold certain opinions about property, 
land, and so on, and they don’t square with my duties as a 
factor.” 

” Ah ! you’re inclined to Radicalism or Socialism or some- 
thing of that sort, and don’t feel comfortable in upholding 
the land system ? ” 

” That’s just it,” I said, greatly surprised both at her quick 
comprehension and at the words she had chosen to convey 
her meaning. 

” And Miss Fleming disapproves of those opinions ? 
Naturally,” she went on. ” It means the upsetting of all 
your plans. You’ll have nothing to look forward to, no 
home, no career.” 

” I believe your ladyship has exactly told her feeling.” 

” Certainly that is it ; it must be. Do you know why I 
understand the situation so well, James ? ” and she gave a 
curious smile. ” The reason is,” and she paused a little as 
if she had hardly decided to tell me all, ” that the marquis 
inclined to those views and grew very dissatisfied with his 
position.” My face must have been expressive, for she con- 
tinued, ” Yes, James ; and in spite of my influence he might 
have taken some unusual course.” I still said nothing, and 
she went on, with a pause at each sentence, ” My position 
for a while was very difficult. Our case, though, was different 
from yours in this way : I did not know before our marriage 
that he held these opinions. It’s a serious thing, James, 
when a man gets those notions into his head, a serious thing 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


279 


for the people connected with him. It means difficulties in 
his home life, for a wife can’t be expected to let him give 
effect to his ideas, unless indeed she is peculiar herself.” 

” Well, Lady Soar,” I said, ” there certainly is this 
difference : I have spoken plainly enough to — to the lady.” 

” That does make a difference, James. And perhaps she 
will be prepared to risk marriage, knowing your opinions, 
and altogether. Well, I’m not called on to give advice.” 

” I should like to have your ladyship’s advice.” 

” It seems to me,” she said, smiling, ” that it’s the lady 
I should most need to advise. And she isn’t here, and 
probably wouldn’t take my advice even if she were.” 

” That means,” I said with a laugh, ” that your advice 
would be unfavourable — I mean, to me.” 

” We need say nothing about that, James, seeing that 
Miss Fleming isn’t here to be advised. But to yourself, 
James, I want to say this. If you feel that your opinions 
would allow you to marry and settle down. I’ll see that you’re 
put in circumstances to do so at once. No, James,” she went 
on, when I said her kindness was excessive, ” I consider that 
you aren’t half paid for your services to me at least, and it 
may be the same with papa ; I can’t tell. So have no 
anxiety about money matters ; you may marry to-morrow 
so far as they are concerned.” 

I thanked her again, but acknowledged I was too doubtful 
of myself to think of settling down. 

” That’s what I feared, James,” she said. ” However, 
I hope you’ll feel yourself free ere long to come to me and 
ask me to fulfil my promise.” 

When I parted from the marchioness that afternoon I 
was in a more cheerful mood than I had known for long, so 
greatly had I been touched and comforted by her kindness. 
By the time I entered the quiet of the park, another matter 
she had spoken of was engaging my thoughts. The revela- 
tion about her husband had made some dark places clear. It 
did not comfort me, however ; far from that. This young 
nobleman, so different from me in everything else, had yet 
been wandering in the same maze. His only escape had been 

— what ? Was mine ? I durst not let the thought come 

to birth, but the gleam of the Serpentine made me shiver. 

I have said that my mental torture was assuaged by the 
open air. This was my experience in the country only, not 


28 o 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


in towns. In the town my distress was aggravated. I came 
to dread visits to Craigkenneth, at least to the poorer paits. 
If the Meiklejohns had visitors, I had sometimes to accompany 
them and show them the sights. On one of these excursions, 
as we were passing down the Wynds after exploring the castle, 
the spectacle of the squalid dwellings and the miserable in- 
habitants grew terrifying. The very recollection was so 
dreadful that when, some weeks later, I had to meet Nina 
and another Aletown girl and take them up to the castle, I 
contrived excuses for leading them by the Back Walk and the 
cemetery so as to avoid the Wynds. 

On this visit to London I had such another distressing ex- 
perience. It was a sunny afternoon, the last day of my stay, 
and I had been hanging about the canal in St. James’s Park 
watching the water-fowl. As I strolled westward I gradually 
became aware of black objects scattered all over the grass 
to the right. It was some time ere I realised what they were. 
On the great expanse of sun-warmed sward were hundreds 
of men, women, and children squatted or sprawling, all of 
them in rags, many searching their rags for vermin. Some- 
thing like a panic seized me. I hurried off as if I were hunted, 
and on reaching the broad walk in Green Park near Constitu- 
tion Hill I sank on a bench exhausted. As I sat, rallying my 
strength and composure, a man, one of those awful objects, 
trailed himself along to the fountain. His hair was reddish, 
his freckled face was burned brick- colour with the sun. He 
gulped a cupful of the water, another, a third ; it seemed his 
thirst would never be slaked. I watched him, fascinated. As 
he took the cup from his mouth the third time he looked at 
me. Perhaps he thought I was watching him with amused 
contempt, or, more like, it was all my own fancy ; anyhow, 
his eyes seemed to scowl so fiercely that my own fell and I 
did not raise them till he was gone. Then I got up and slunk 
away. 

I mentioned, some chapters back, that ere I was long in 
the factor’s office I lost all interest in working-people, or, if 
I was forced to take an interest in our own employees, I 
looked on them as beasts of burden that I had to watch and 
drive. A new feeling possessed me now : I was ashamed 
before them. I tried to keep out of the way of the ploughmen 
and labourers. If I did meet them and had to speak in 
passing, I kept my eyes away. There was a lad on the estate^ 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


281 


a humble, hard-working ’prentice-gardener, who had a habit 
of touching his cap to me. Rather than risk that salute I 
have many a time avoided the gardens when I would fain 
have spent an hour there after leaving the office. This feeling 
of shame before work-people was with me even in towns and 
among strangers. When I passed labourers laying the cause- 
way in Craigkenneth, carrying hods of bricks up the gangways 
of new buildings, loading carts, and so on, I turned my head 
aside. I felt that they despised and hated me as one of the 
crew they had to carry on their back. 

Nowadays, if an earnest soul cannot reach the truth on 
social questions, it is not for want of would-be guides. In 
every other bookshop you see pamphlets, at every other 
street-corner you hear orators, urging the people to make for 
Socialism. Old Atkinson’s rough warnings kept me from 
being lost in that swamp. They had taught me, what was 
confirmed by all I saw and heard later, that your Socialist 
agitator is knave or fool or a mixture of both. He cries “ The 
Land for the People ! ” “ The Tools and Workshops and all 

the rest for the People ! ” I also was far enough on by this 
time to want the land and everything else for the people ; 
but I saw that he did not really want these for the people : 
he wanted them for himself and his kind. These wise and 
clever spouters were to hold the land and all the means of 
wealth, and would say to the people : “ You’re to do so-and- 
so,” ” You’re to get such-and-such.” They were to do the 
administering, the people were to do the working. In a word, 
there was to be merely a change of master ; for the private 
landlord and capitalist we should have the Socialist organiser. 
That the new master would be better I did not believe ; that 
he might be worse I could see very well. 

More than once I was on the eve of writing old Atkinson, or 
even calling on him in some of my journeys south, and telling 
him my perplexities. There had been no correspondence 
between us since I returned the Carlyle letters. The reason 
I did not consult him was that I had seen he was not at peace 
himself. He knew we were off the road and had none but 
blind guides ; the true way he did not know, or else untoward 
circumstances kept him from taking it. Was there no true 
way, I was often forced to ask ? Is it inevitable that man 
shall live in strife and misery and die without ever knowing 
peace ? That was a terrible doubt, the most terrible of all ; 


282 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

it was that doubt that was bringing me to suicide or the 
madhouse. 

My night-wanderings, begun in the winter storms, were 
more frequent now, for I could not take liquor to make me 
sleep ; it heated me too much. I roamed the woods and 
fields, lane and highway, hoping to wear myself done. On 
one such night — it was early in June, not long after my return 
from that London visit — far on in the night, — ^it must have 
been past midnight — I found myself at the Borestone. Visitors 
to the battlefield may remember that close to the stone where 
the old standard flew there are some steps let into the grassy 
bank. On one of these I sat down, for my limbs were tired, 
though my thoughts were active as ever. The rest calmed me 
somewhat ; indeed, the night was so wonderful that the mind, 
however obsessed, could not escape its influence. The full- 
moon flooded the landscape till the distant hills and woods 
were not only visible but clear, while things at hand, hedge, 
tree, dusty road, were so bright as to give the illusion of day. 
I had the scene to myself, for the lovers who frequent the 
seats at the flag-staff were all away ; yet I was not without 
congenial company. A crake was rasping just over the hedge 
in front ; from somewhere beyond the little bowling-green 
came the hurried chatter and mocking of a sedge-warbler 
which another, like a faint echo, was answering from about 
the mill-lade. As I sat listening to the noisy songster near 
me, the thought — the thought I had been seeking so long, 
swam into my soul. There had been no hint of its coming ; 
yet there it was, living, clear, perfect. I rose and wildly took 
a stride or two along the dusty road. Then I sat down on 
the bank of sward to assure myself of my treasure, and it was 
only the need of exertion to relieve my joy that forced me to 
move. The walk home was an exalted dream ; yet with 
the rapture was such peace that I slept ere my head was well 
on the pillow. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


283 


CHAPTER XXX 

W HEN I woke, bright sunlight was streaming into 
my room and, as it seemed, into my soul. S )me 
great good-fortune had fallen to me ; soon I recol- 
lected what. It wanted half an hour of rising- 
time, and that half-hour was one of the most joyous I have 
ever known. I was hugging my late-found treasure, making 
sure of it, asking how it had become mine. I saw — or maybe 
I am confusing that morning's reverie with later reflections — 
that various influences had been drawing me on to success. 
When the earliest doubts had risen as to the rightness of my 
position and duties, I had tried to lay them by all sorts of 
devices. I had drunk and smoked, for instance. Latterly, 
I had scarcely touched either whisky or tobacco. And though 
I had abstained from other than moral considerations — the 
whisky heated me too much in the summer weather and 
smoking increased my nervousness — I got the benefit of the 
abstinence : my brain was clearer, less clouded. Another 
reason, stronger still, was this ; I had been dealing more 
truthfully with myself. When first challenged by my own 
conscience, I justified my position. A factor did harm by 
upholding land-monopoly ; on the other hand, he did good 
by encouraging agriculture, maintaining order on an estate, 
and so on. Besides, I did my work faithfully, was neither 
negligent nor venal. At one time, indeed, I was near endors- 
ing old Mitchell’s pronouncement that a good factor was a 
boon to the community. I had long got past that and, 
though I retained my position and knew of no better, I ac- 
knowledged to myself that the position was wrong. This 
was a great advance. Let a man stop l)dng to his own con- 
science, and there is hope he may find the truth and have 
strength to follow it ; if he tries to justify what he knows to 
be false and wrong, he puts out his own eyes. 


284 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


There was another thing, the most important, perhaps. Of 
late I had been more patient and kindly. The feeling of 
human kinship had grown strong. Instead of looking down 
on the work-people of the estate, I felt humiliated before them, 
and when I had to deal with them I treated them as human 
beings. I can see clearly now that this helped me to my great 
discovery. The moral and the intellectual cannot be parted. 
Naturally ; for the soul, or whatever you like to call your 
spiritual nature, is one and indivisible ; strengthen it or weaken 
it at one point, and you make it stronger or weaker through- 
out. Hence I have tried to take this as a rule of life : when 
in any perplexity, don’t rush and strain to find the right 
course ; live better, be purer, kindlier, and your troubled 
thoughts will clear and you will see the way through. 

How simple the truth was — now that I had found it ! How 
near ! And I had been searching for it the world over ! The 
answer that would lay every doubt had been before me from 
the first. Why had I missed it ? For this reason : the 
question had been wrongly put. I had been asking. How 
can I put an end to wrong and suffering ? I ought to have 
asked. How can I cease doing wrong and causing suffering 
myself ? In a word, I had asked. How can I put the world 
right ? I should have asked, How can I put myself right ? 
The moment that truth rose before me as I sat on the Bore- 
stone steps, all was, clear. I soon saw, of course, that, though 
I had asked the wrong question so long, there was an excuse 
for the mistake. All the reformers that I had heard or read 
had made the same error, and their example had misled me. 
Old Atkinson was the only one who had seemed to know where- 
about the secret lay, and now that I could recognise the value 
of his hints, the respect I had always entertained for the old 
Cumbrian was greatly increased. Yes, he had a better head 
than the lot of them ; and this might help him too, that, 
unlike the spouters whom he mercilessly exposed, he had 
spent his days in useful manual toil, and so had kept close to 
Nature and truth ! 

That was another of my rapturous days. The world seemed 
fresh and new, my heart danced, I felt as if I could speak in 
poetry. Such exaltation had been mine ere now, when days 
were sunny, when my prospects were fair, when I was dream- 
ing about Nina. The difference was that those old moods 
were transitory, known for transitory even at the time ; 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


285 

now I felt that my gladness would never quite die, for it drew 
its life from reason. If the world was not new, my eyes 
were, and that was the same. 

The one who had the right to know my decision first was 
Nina. She was to be in Craigkenneth on the market-day, 
visiting cousins, but I could not wait till then. That very 
evening I cycled by the familiar carse road to Aletown Ferry. 
It was an evening of unclouded sunshine ; fields, river, hills 
were steeped in radiance. The old ferryman seemed to have 
drawn fresh life from the midsummer warmth ; his limbs 
had little trace of stiffness, his talk inclined to optimism. He 
discoursed of the hay-crop which was just ready for cutting ; 
it was very heavy on the carse, and he understood it was 
looking as well on the dry field. Yes, it promised to be a 
prosperous year for the agricultural community. 

'' A boon to the community,” was on my tongue, and in 
the desperate effort to keep it back I had to laugh outright. 
Indeed, my whole mood was one of merriment ; my heart 
was dancing, and words and look had to keep time. Old 
Mitchell might conclude I had been promised a rise of salary 
or was on the top of my wedding. But my mood sobered 
somewhat as I entered Aletown, and for the first time I hoped 
my sweetheart might be from home. Then I could acquaint 
her by letter. Poor Nina was at home, and, perhaps from 
not expecting me, was even tenderer than usual. Some young 
people were with her playing tennis, so we had little time to 
be alone together, and I did not seek the chance. Her friends 
waited late and gave me a reasonable excuse for keeping 
silence that night. Nina was up to breakfast with me next 
morning, and proposed to convoy me on her cycle part of the 
way. As we went flying along the country road in the 
sunny morning, she was particularly talkative and merry, 
and how to divulge the tidings that would dash her joy I 
could not see. I tried to make openings and failed. At last 
— we were just past Melva distillery, I remember — I gulped out, 
“ Do you know, Nina, I am thinking of giving up my 
place ? ” , 

She turned to me with eyes I could not meet. It was some 
seconds before she spoke. 

What do you mean, Jim ? ” she asked at last. 

“ Well, I feel very uncomfortable in an estate office. As 
I’ve told you often, I have to do things and see things done 


286 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


that I don't like. And then,” I went on, feeling the advantage 
of being able to make my confession from the saddle of a 
hard-spinning bicycle, “ I have thought a great deal, as you 
know, Nina, about the relations of rich and poor and I see 
that these relations are not right, are altogether wrong, 
indeed, and that I am helping to keep up the wrong by serving 
the rich as I am doing.” 

She did not speak, and we rode on in silence till I felt un- 
comfortable. I was about to speak, merely for the sake of 
saying something, when Nina stepped off her bicycle, and, 
though I recognised that my advantage was going, I had to 
dismount. We walked on side by side, and still Nina did not 
utter a word. Her face was very sulky and she kept her 
eyes away. To break the awkward silence I said, 

” I feel I must give my work up and — and look out for 
something else, something that will let me live in kindness 
with working-people, instead of driving them on for the benefit 
of the rich.” 

“Yes,” she said almost fiercely ; “ that's just your selfish 
ness.” 

“ Selfishness, Nina ! ” 

“ Yes, selfishness ; ” and she stood and faced me. “ You 
think of nobody but yourself. Because you’ve taken some 
ridiculous notions into your head, you’re going to follow them 
out and give up everything, and you never give a thought to 
other people that you have led to look forward to something 
very different.” 

“ Indeed I do, Nina. I have thought of you a great deal.” 

“ Oh ! And what do you propose to do ? ” 

“ I — I don’t know very well what I may do yet. It was 
only last night, indeed this morning, that I saw clearly it 
was my duty to give up my post, and I have spoken to no- 
body but yourself. What I may turn my hand to I can’t say. 
It will be some kind of common work, labourer’s work.” 

“ And I am to be cast aside like an old rag ? ” 

“ Nothing of the kind, Nina. If you can be content to 
share the life I mean to lead, it will be all the better for me.” 

She sniffed disdainfully. “You don’t know yourself what 
life you’re going to lead. You said so a minute ago.” 

“ In a way ” I began, when a hooting motor came 

rushing on and made us draw to the footpath. We stood our 
cycles against the roadside dyke, and I went on, 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 287 

‘‘ In a way I do. I shall be a country labourer, or some- 
thing of that kind.” 

“ Oh yes. And had you any talk of this when you led me 
to — to care for you ? ” 

-No; but ” 

“ No ; you led me to care for you, and you were going to 
make a position for yourself and me, and now, when it suits 
you, all this is thrown to the winds, and I am told I may be 
with you when you don’t know yourself how you’re to be 
living.” 

Her tone was not so hard as she spoke the last words, and 
looking at her I saw that tears were coming. Ere I had found 
words she went on, 

” That’s just men all through ; thinking of nobody but 
themselves, expecting other people to care for them, and, 
whenever they take a whim, casting them aside.” 

Some tears were making their way down her fresh round 
cheeks, and she was too proud to call attention to them by 
wiping them away. By some peculiarity of my nature I 
cannot bear to see anyone, even a child, crying. It will be 
understood, then, that I did not feel comfortable when I 
saw my sweetheart’s tears and knew that I had made them 
flow. 

I didn’t mean to pain you, Nina,” I said. 

” Oh ! you thought I shouldn’t care ? ” she retorted. 

How was I not to care, I should like to know ? ” 

She was about to say more, but must have felt that all her 
strength was needed to save an utter breakdown. I did not 
venture to speak, for fear of hurting her anew, so the two of 
us stood again in an awkward silence. At last, without really 
thinking what I did, I took out my watch. Nina may have 
thought I was impatient to be off, for she turned her bicycle 
and made to mount. 

” Are you leaving me this way, Nina ? ” I asked reproach- 
fully. 

” I don’t know that there’s anything more to say,” she 
answered in a cold and somewhat weary tone. 

“I’ll see you on Thursday, at any rate ? ” I asked ; and 
when she made no reply, I added with some earnestness, 
” Look here, Nina ; I’ll say and do nothing in this affair till 
we meet on Thursday and have another talk. You’ll promise 
to be in, dear, as you arranged ? ” 


288 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


I can’t say. What’s the good of anything now ? ” she 
said in the same passionless voice. 

“ I’ll be down at the train, at any rate, and I’ll do nothing 
till after that,” I repeated ; but without a word of reply or 
farewell she got on to her saddle and started. 

I stood watching her upright figure till the machine glided 
round a crook of the road and the distillery buildings inter- 
posed their high bare walls. She had not once glanced back. 

On reaching Craigkenneth I made a call on Laing, the builder, 
though I knew it would throw me late for the office. Ever 
since my last encounter with Liddell I had been uncomfort- 
able about the man, and had charged myself with aiding in 
his fall. If I was to do anything for him, I must do it without 
delay. Once I resigned my place at Lowis, I should lose the 
little influence I possessed. Certainly, another day would 
have done well enough ; but the truth is, my spirits had 
drooped owing to Nina’s coldness, and I hoped that in doing 
a kindness to another I might regain my cheerfulness, or at 
least forget myself. Laing was in his office and glad, as usual, 
to see me. I spoke of Liddell, and asked if he could take 
him on. Yes ; he would be quite pleased ; his carters were 
often shifting, and Liddell should have the first chance. I 
wondered, with a certain feeling of amusement, whether 
Laing would be as keen to oblige me did he know my situation. 
Not to mislead him about Liddell, I told him the man was 
drinking. 

" Though I honestly believe,” I added, ” that he isn’t a 
drunkard. He has been unlucky, and seems to be one of 
those people that can’t stand bad luck. If things mended 
with him, he might be as steady as he was when I knew 
him first.” 

Laing made light of the failing. Since I took an interest 
in the man, he would keep an eye on him and see that he got 
a chance. I could not give Liddell’s address, but I promised 
to hunt him out and send him along to the office. 

Would Nina visit Craigkenneth on the market-day ? Or 
would she find some pretext for keeping her mother at home, 
or at least remaining at home herself ? The question occurred 
to me often in the interval, and I inclined to the notion that 
she would not appear. I was on the platform at the set hour, 
and it was with some surprise I saw my tall sweetheart step- 
ping from a carriage. Her manner was quiet, though frank 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


289 

enough, and we met as ordinary friends. She gave me a 
second surprise when she proposed that we should accompany 
her mother to her sister’s house in the Glebe, and then should 
take a turn somewhere by ourselves. When we had seen her 
mother to the door, we sauntered across to the Back Walk, 
where the elms shaded us pleasantly from the strong mid- 
summer sun. Nina had brought me a magazine from her 
father with some hitherto unpublished letters of Carlyle, and 
this gave me a chance of talking without touching on the 
subject that must have been nearest her heart as well as my 
own. Indeed, I am very backward at tackling any delicate 
question, and we might have kept away from this one long 
enough had not Nina’s spirit been better than mine. 

“ I suppose, Jim,” she said without any preface, ” we had 
better talk about what you were speaking of that morning.” 
When I made no rejoinder she went on, ” What are you think- 
ing about it now ? ” 

“I’m still of the same opinion,” I answered, and my tone, 

I fear, was rather aggressive, for I was working myself up for 
the contest that I thought inevitable. 

Do you mean that you intend to give up your work at 
Lowis ? ” 

” I do,” I answered in the same tone. 

“ And what do you think of doing afterwards ? ” 

” Just what I said. I shall try to find country work of 
some kind.” After a pause I added, ” If you will join me, 
Nina, it will be all the better.” 

” We shan’t talk about me ; ” and she gave a slight smile. 
“ But about yourself, Jim ; do you think you will be able to 
make a living ? ” 

” I can try, at any rate. I’ve been out of the way of work- 
ing for years, but I must just try to get into it again.” 

” Well, Jim, if you have quite made up your mind, wo 
needn’t say anything more.” 

We sauntered on for a little, neither of us speaking. I was 
not prepared for this uncomplaining, almost gentle, acquies- 
cence, and it touched me more than the hot resentment or the 
tearful pleadings I had expected. Not that I had a doubt 
about the rightness of my decision ; only I felt I had com- 
municated it in too curt and harsh a way, and that to one 
who deserved all the gentleness I could show. It was, I 
trust, in a softer tone that I asked. 


u 


290 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Are you vexed with me, Nina ? 

“ No,” she answered in a dispassionate voice. “ Fm not 
glad, of course ; this is not what I looked forward to. Still, 
you must please yourself, and it will do no good to make 
a fuss.” 

” Nina,” I said earnestly, for I was moved by her self 
forgetfulness, ” do you feel that I am treating you unkindly ? ” 
She made no answer, and I went on, ” That has never been my 
intention, and indeed, Nina, it would be mean and ungrateful 
of me to be unkind to you. But this has been a serious thing ; 
it has cost me a hard struggle to get so far ; and if I am to live 
at all, it must be in some way that my conscience approves.” 

” Fm not blaming you, Jim,” she said quietly. ” I suppose 
your reasons are enough for yourself. I don’t feel them so 
strongly ; but then it’s yourself you must satisfy.” 

” I didn’t look for this, Nina, any more than you,” I began ; 
and, when I was casting about for words to tell my thought, 
Nina said, with more feeling in her tone, 

” There was one thing I wanted put right, Jim. You might 
think from my being angry that morning that it was on my 
own account — I mean, for fear of losing a chance of getting 
settled and ” 

” Oh, Nina ! ” I exclaimed, and my sincerity must have 
been evident, for she said, 

” Well, if you understand, it’s all right. I’ll manage some- 
how, I daresay.” 

I conveyed her back to the Glebe but excused myself from 
going in, and she did not seem to expect me. Always before, 
when we parted, we had set the time and place for the next 
meeting. Nothing was said about this now. My feeling 
was that we should be sure to see each other soon, and 
that a tryst was needless. She may have felt this too. 
Anyhow, we said nothing, and the memory of this trifling 
neglect has often made me think how ill we can foresee our 
lot, and how a little rift widens and widens with time into a 
great gulf that*^, there is no passing. 

Parting with loved ones is not pleasant ; even in memory 
it wakens a soft melancholy. I will not give more of these 
scenes. A great effort it cost me to tell my decision to Meikle- 
john, and my kind old friend heard it with dismay. Two 
things he said which I must set down. ” James, Fm not a 
man of many words and I don’t make a show of my feelings ; 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


291 


but Fve been fond of you ever since you came into this office, 
and IVe come to look on you as my own.” The other was, 
” The admiral will never let you go. He means you to fill 
my place some day.” 

I knew the admiral would not let me go without a struggle. 
He was in the south at the time, and I wrote him as soon as 
I had spoken to Meiklejohn. I did not say much, for I knew 
he would summon me to London and make me give my story 
by word of mouth. All I told him now was that I had been 
thinking a great deal on social questions, and that the con- 
victions I had come to would not allow me to remain at my 
present work. The letter would reach the admiral on the 
Monday. That afternoon he wired Meiklejohn that he v/ould 
be at Lowis on the Tuesday evening. I knew our meeting 
would be painful for both. From the first Admiral Seton 
and all his household had been good friends to me, and I 
seemed to be giving them a poor return. If I was to be 
truthful and open, I should have to say things the admiral 
would not like to hear. I tried to prepare for the interview 
by seeking for phrases that would convey my meaning in 
the gentlest way, but the words were not easy to find, and 
I had at last to trust to the moment for help. On the Wed- 
nesday morning, as I was at breakfast, Mrs. Paterson brought 
in a letter addressed to me in the admiral’s hand. 

” Rebecca ” — this was a maid at the house — ” came along 
with it,” my landlady explained. ” She tells me the admiral’s 
off again.” 

” Off where ? ” I asked, not comprehending. 

” Back to London. He hasn’t made a long stay.” 

I had said nothing as yet to the old lady about my leaving, 
and she would have no suspicion that the admiral’s visit had 
to do with me. The hasty departure surprised me utterly ; 
however, the letter would explain. And certainly it did. 

” Dear James, 

'' I have yours of Saturday intimating your resolve 
to leave my employment. I need not tell you that it was a 
great and most painful surprise, for I had not the slightest 
warning that you were thinking of any such thing. You say 
that the decision has been come to after long consideration, 
and, that being the case, it would be useless for me to try to 
alter it. I must, therefore, though with great regret, accept 


292 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


your resignation. In doing so, I must tender you my sincere 
thanks for your faithful and valuable services in the past and 
my equally sincere wishes for your prosperity in the future.*' 

In a postscript he added that Mr. Meiklejohn was em- 
powered to make the necessary final arrangements with me. 

The letter, so curt, so formal, was not what I was prepared 
for ; it was, in the admiral’s own words, “ a great and most 
painful surprise.” Yet, the shock once past, I could read the 
admiral’s thoughts almost as well as if they had been stamped 
on the note-paper, and when I went across to the office and 
handed the letter to Meiklejohn, it was with an air that said, 
“ I told you so.” 

“ I can’t get to the bottom of this,” my friend remarked 
with a shake of the head. ” He sent for me last night and we 
had a long talk. He knows more about your opinions than 
you told him in your letter. Somebody must have been 
speaking about you. Master Reggie, I suppose.” 

“ It couldn’t be he,” I said, though I did not inform him 
it must have been the marchioness. Of course, I was aware 
that while she might retail some of our conversation to her 
father she would have no thought of hurting me. 

” At any rate,” said the factor, ” he told me he had plenty 
of annoyance already with such views. That could only 
refer to Master Reggie.” 

This time I did not correct him, though I could have done 
so. 

” And he didn’t want any more ? ” I suggested with a 
laugh. 

“ Well, that’s about it,” my friend admitted. ” At the 
same time he might have given you a shake of the hand before 
you left. You deserve that, surely.” 

” It helps to make the parting all the easier,” I said. “ This 
letter evidently means that I’m to clear out at once. So 
I’ll only stay till you find I can be done without.” He gave 
a look as if he could say something on that head but hardly 
liked. The letter had prepared me for being suspicious. 
“ Perhaps he has the place filled already ? ” I asked. 

” Well, the fact is, James,” he admitted, ” you’re not alto- 
gether wrong. He has a man in his eye, at any rate. It’s 
a man in Hardman’s office — Biggs, the name. You’ll likely 
know him.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


293 


Quite well.” 

Harriman was a land-agent in Hampton whom we often 
employed on the Wiston-Court property, and I had occasionally 
met his assistant, a short, stout youth of, perhaps, five- 
and-twenty, with a pale, flabby, and shghtly pock-pitted face, 
a hurried business-like way of speaking and a go-ahead manner. 

” Oh, well,” I remarked, ” as I said, it makes it the easier 
for me to go. Well let Mr. Biggs make a start next week.” 

Only a very superior person would be above a feeling of 
wounded vanity at being shown so unmistakably that he could 
be done without. I was sore hurt and, though I tried to keep 
an unconcerned look and tone, my kind friend must have 
seen that I was suffering. 

The admiral’s treatment, however, did this for me ; it 
lessened the sadness, though not the bitterness of parting. 
My last days in office passed quietly enough. One incident 
only I will tell. 

The vengeful passion I had long nursed had been for a while 
as good as dead. In those months of self-torture Big Pate 
and all my relations to him had lost their interest. Since the 
night at the Borestone when a new light had risen I did think 
of him occasionally ; and while I could not profess any love 
for my old tyrant, I felt I should have been able to forego 
my vengeance had a chance of gratifying it come my way. 
But what of the plot against the admiral ? Meiklejohn had 
been warned and would watch Big Pate and his neighbour, 
and at times I was inclined to let him settle with the pair. 
This did not satisfy me either, and at last — it was that Wed- 
nesday when the admiral’s letter came — another course, that 
had been seen by glimpses already, lay before me as straight 
and clear as a shaft of sunlight. The same evening I strolled 
over to Todhillock. Kirkwood was in his accustomed place 
and attitude, leaning over the dyke in front of the steading 
and eyeing some two score of bullocks that grazed in the park 
beside the burn. 

” Ye’re lookin’ first-rate, Mr. Bryce,” was his greeting. 

” My son Weelum has been sayin’ for a while that he’s certain 
ye’re not well ; but I can’t say I ever saw ye in better fettle ; ” 
and he proceeded to caution me about my health. 

Old Kirkwood was a little, stoutish man, grey-bearded, 
round-shouldered, and he wore spectacles ; he was the only 
farmer on the estate who did. He had the distinction, tooi 


294 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


of being the most religious of our tenants. He and his only 
son ** Weelum ” managed a Sunday-school that met in a little 
hall on the Warnock road. His oily, fleeching manner made 
people feel comfortable, self-satisfied ; it had that effect on 
me after I knew of his roguery ; it was beginning to work 
even now. I had to make a plunge to save myself. 

** You’ve been getting a lot of artificial these last two seasons, 
Mr. Kirkwood ? ” 

Pause. 

Ye-es, Mr. Bryce. It’ll not do, Mr. Bryce, to starve the 
land even though we’re leavin’ it. We get the good while 
we’re here, Mr. Bryce, and some other body ’ll get it when 
we’re away. That’s what I often tell Weelum, Mr. Bryce.” 

” True. But you’ve been getting twice as much as usual 
of late ; ” and I gave him a look with the tail of my eye. 

He was in the act of stealing a sidelong glance at me from 
beneath his spectacles, and the contrast between the shrewd 
eye and the demure expression of his other features was so 
comic that for my life I could not master myself. I managed 
to keep in my laughter, but gave vent to some unearthly 
grunts as if I had been choking. 

” I’m usin’ more and more artificial every year, Mr. Bryce. 
That’s the tendency with farmers nowadays. Ye’ll not get 
the best results without it, Mr. Bryce, always provided you’ve 
plenty of the natural stuff for a foundation. For it needs 
them both, Mr. Bryce. It’s all nonsense to say ” 

” The Mailing stuff has been coming in your name, Mr. 
Kirkwood.” 

Another pause. 

“ Ye-es. It’s handy at times to get a neighbour’s carts if 
your own horse are busy or the like of that. And if I oblige 
you to-day, Mr. Bryce, you can oblige me to-morrow. It’s 
the only ” 

” Yes ; but it’s all booked to you, Mr. Kirkwood, which 
means that when your claim for Unexhausted is sent in at the 
end of your tack, it’ll be about double what it ought to be.” 

” Mr. Bryce,” said the old fellow unctuously, almost 
solemnly, ” you don’t believe that I would wrong my laird 
or any man of a penny ? It would be ill done of me after 
get tin’ every consideration from the admiral and from your- 
self, Mr. Bryce, not to speak of Mr. Meiklejohn. I can assure 
ye, Mr. Bryce ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


295 


** Listen to me, Mr. Kirkwood. Let me have my say out 
quietly and you’ll understand why I am spealdng about this. 
As to the fact, there’s no doubt whatever ; the bags were 
all addressed to you ; Mackinlay’s were lifted from here after 
dark. Now, why do I interfere, Mr. Kirkwood ? Because 
I’m assistant-factor ? Not at all. You’ll learn before long 
that that’s not the reason. It’s for your own sake, Mr. 
Kirkwood. You’re doing a tricky thing, a dishonest thing, 
and it’ll be better for your own peace of mind to put it straight 
while you can. I’m not referring to the risk of being found 
out : I’m referring, as I say, to your own peace of mind. If 
you do the straight thing, charging up against the admiral 
only what you have put into your own land, you’ll be able to 
look him and everybody else in the face, you’ll be able to think 
of your outgoing with satisfaction. If you do the opposite, 
you may make some money certainly, that is, if the thing 
comes oft — which I don’t think it will, for, as I told you, you’ve 
been watched — however, you may make some money, but 
you’U hardly care to think of the transaction, I should fancy ; 
it’ll be a spot you’ll try to keep your eye away from. And 
it isn’t as if you actually needed the money ; you’re comfort- 
able enough, I’m glad to know. Now, Mr. Kirkwood, I’ll 
not say a word more now or at any other time. I’ve had my 
say out and I’m done. Good evening; ” and turning from the 
old fellow, who kept his eyes on the ground, I walked briskly 
away. 

That week saw the last of me as steward. 


End of Part II 





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PART III 
The Cottage 












THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


299 


CHAPTER XXXI 

A WARM dewy rain was filling the air as with steam 
when I entered the strawberry field. It was the 
first Tuesday of July. Two weeks had passed since 
I left Lowis, and in the interval I had been looking 
for country work, but with no success. The season was 
backward and farmers had not started the hay. Market- 
gardens, where I would fain have been employed, were 
doing nothing. But one gardener suggested, “You should 
try Sparkwell ; they’ll be needing hands for the strawberries.” 
I went straight to the station and was soon landed at the old- 
fashioned village. Sparkwell is the same distance to the west 
of Craigkenneth as Lowis is to the east, that is, something 
like three miles. Climbing from the village by a country 
road, I found myself, after a half-mile walk, among the straw- 
berry fields that make the hillside green for miles. They 
are in the hands of many different tenants ; it was one of the 
most important that I meant to try first. Near the gate 
that opened onto his fruit-farm was a wooden shed, apparently 
used as a fruit-house, for women were entering it after 
showing their full baskets to a man in a mackintosh whom 
I knew for the grower. He was a big, heavy man, well 
up in years, with a face as round and red as the sun on a 
frosty morning. He was so crippled by rheumatism that he 
leant heavily on his stick even when standing. As I halted 
near him he withdrew his attention from the women and looked 
to me. 

“Mr. Cowbrough ? ” I asked, going closer. 

“ Yes ; ” and he seemed to look me through with his keen 
grey eyes. 

“ I was told you might be needing an extra hand seeing 
it’s your busy time. I’d be glad to do anything about the 
place.” 


300 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

The request must have surprised him, for it was a little ere 
he spoke. 

Ay, this is our busy time,'' he said at last. “ Have ye 
ever worked at fruit before ? " 

-No. I " 

“ Where d’ye come from ? " he asked sharply. 

'' From Lowis, near Lucas.” 

” Oh, ay. Were ye not ? ” 

” Yes, I was in the factor’s office,” I said, as he interrupted 
himself. 

” Ay, ay. And have ye left yer place ? ” 

” Yes.” 

” What made ye do that ? Ye’d have a good job.” 

” Good enough in a way,” I admitted. ” But I got dis- 
satisfied with it.” As he was evidently waiting for more 
information, I went on, ” I wanted to be doing something 
useful, working with my own hands, instead of merely watch- 
ing others or directing others. Farm work or garden work or 
work like this is what would suit me better.” 

He glanced me over from head to foot and was silent for 
a little. Then he said, 

” I know the factor at Lowis, Mr. Meiklejohn. It was him 
ye were with, wasn’t it ? ” 

I understood what was in his mind. Pulling out a letter 
I handed it to him. It was a testimonial from Meiklejohn, 
eulogising my work and character, and commending me to 
any one who needed an intelligent, industrious, and trust- 
worthy servant. 

” Ay,” was all the observation Cowbrough had time to 
make on the document, for he took a hasty step forward 
to intercept a woman at the fruit-house door. ” Hey ! let’s 
see that basket. A lot of these berries are far too soft. Ye’ll 
have to be a dashed sight carefuller. Mind that.” Then 
turning to me, he resumed his former tone as he said, ” I 
usually take on an extra man about this time.” 

” Well,” I said rather eagerly, ” Fd be glad to have work 
on a place like this, and you could depend on me not eating 
the strawberries.” 

He gave a peculiar laugh that I only found the meaning of 
later. 

” Oh, we don’t heed that much. There’s work about this 
place for a while after the strawberries are done. The beds 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


301 


have to be weeded ; then there’s the delving up the alleys. 
What wage would you be expecting ? ” he asked in a sharper 
tone. 

Things were progressing and I grew more assured. 

“I’ve no idea. The work would be new to me, though it’s 
work I’d thoroughly enjoy. Maybe the best way would be 
to wait and see if I was any use.’’ 

“ Are ye stopping in Sparkwell ? ’’ he asked. 

“ No ; I’m staying in Craigkenneth.’’ I had been at a 
small Temperance Hotel there since leaving Lowis. “ But,’’ 
I added, “ I suppose one could easily get lodgings in the 
village.’’ 

“Ye might. Of course, there’s a hut over there that our 
spare man occupied last year,” and he indicated a little wooden 
cabin not far off. “ It would need a lot of cleaning, for it’s 
just as he left it. I daresay it would be right enough if ” 

“ The very thing,” I interrupted eagerly. “ Nothing would 
suit me so well. I could do everything for myself, and I’d 
far rather do that than have anybody attending to me.” 

“ It could be made comfortable enough — for the summer, 
at any rate. There’s an iron bedstead in it, and we would 
send up bedclothes and a mattress. I suppose a flock mattress 
would do ? I don’t know if we’ve a spare feather-bed.” 

“ It’ll do first rate. In fact, a bottle or two of straw would 
do ; there’s nothing healthier.” 

“ We’ll send the flock-bed up to-night and some dishes.” 

I thanked him and asked when I should make a start. 

“ To-morrow morning. There would be no use to-day. 
But ye could give the hut a clean-out.” 

I walked across to it, my heart dancing at the wonderful 
luck that had befallen me. Here was I about to engage in 
fruit-growing, a useful occupation and surely the most de- 
lightful in the world ; and to begin it under such pleasant 
conditions, living in this little out-of-the-way cabin, doing 
my own turn and interfered with by nobody ! The hut was 
certainly a very modest dwelling. It was of wood with a 
corrugated-iron roof and had formerly been the small pavilion 
for the football club of the village. There was no furniture 
except the iron bedstead, a fruit crate which had doubtless 
served for a chair, and a small stove with a telescope pipe, 
whose upper end emerged into the open air by a round hole 
cut near the roof. I got a besom from the fruit-house and 


302 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


started to sweep out my cabin. It had no glazed windows, 
only a wicket in the back and front. The back one I opened 
and found myself looking into a cabbage field I had noticed 
on coming up the lane. The weather had now faired, the sun 
had come out, and I glanced up with joy to the white cloud- 
masses in the rich blue. As I contemplated them, a voice 
immediately beneath my wicket gave me a start : 

“ Are you Cowbrough’s man ? ” 

Looking down I perceived a young woman in petticoat and 
man’s jacket, with a draw-hoe on her shoulder, standing among 
the cabbages. My hut was set on a little knoll, so that I 
was considerably above her level. 

Yes,” I said, when I had recovered myself. 

“ My God ! ” Then, after a pause, “ Are you going to 
stop there ? ” 

I gave the same answer. 

“ Christ ! ” Another pause ; then, “ You’ll be a gaffer 
over the women ? ” 

“ No. I’m just a worker.” 

” My God ! ” and she gave her head an ominous shake, 
though neither the gesture nor the ejaculations had meaning 
for me at the time. 

” Are you one of Cowbrough’s workers ? ” I asked, seeing 
she was in no hurry to say more. 

” No, by God ! But I’ve a sister with him — Sarah Doyle. 
D’ye know her ? ” 

” I don’t know anybody yet. I’ll likely know her soon, 
though, for I’ll be starting work to-morrow.” 

She again gave her head the shake and uttered another of 
her sacred ejaculations. Then she remarked in quite a matter- 
of-fact tone, 

“ You’re a good-looking bloke.” 

I laughed, as much at her serious air as at her words. 

Will that be worth an extra shilling a day from Cow- 
brough ? ” 

She responded with her usual gesture and exclamation, and 
assumed an easy attitude as if disposed to bear a part in 
a leisurely dialogue. But I wanted my hut cleaned, so I 
excused myself from prolonging the conversation and drew in 
my head. 

When I had my new dwelling somewhat tidy, I went in to 
Craigkenneth by train and brought out my trunk and 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


303 


travelling-bag. In the village I bought tea, sugar, oatmeal, 
bread, and other necessaries, also a pot, a pan, a few plates 
and spoons. When I returned to the hill the workers were 
gone, and I had the strawberry-field to myself, for Cowbrough’s 
house was down in the village. A sparrow flew out as I 
opened my cabin door. I kindled the stove with some old 
rasp-canes and chips of coal that were lying in a shed near 
by. Then I made tea and partook of my first meal with great 
satisfaction. Tea over, I strolled out to survey my new 
quarters. 

On the east side the fruit-farm was bounded by a wood of 
deciduous trees. A wire netting that ran along the fence was 
little protection, I could see, against rabbits. They had made 
runs beneath and could pass quite freely. Rasp-canes had 
been set in this part of the ground, and it was these, not the 
strawberry plants, that the rabbits devoured. In places you 
could hardly have told that a cane had ever been set. The 
rabbits that had been feeding in the quiet of the evening 
scuttled back to the wood at my approach ; only one, a very 
young thing, had tried to pass through the mesh of the netting 
and stuck, and there it was struggling when I came up. I 
relieved it and let it away. In the mild, moist air chimney- 
swallows twittered, swifts screamed, a bat was flitting noise- 
lessly. Turning from the woodside I sauntered along the upper 
reaches of the strawberry-field and viewed the broad and 
varied landscape — the Wester Carse, as the great level expanse 
above Craigkenneth is called, the Fertha meandering through, 
the Drummond Hills closing it in and leading the eye to the 
world-famed northern mountains, on whose peaks grey clouds 
were resting. A feeling of perfect rapture possessed me ; it 
was as if the fruitful slope I stood on, and even the boundless 
landscape before me, hill, river, and fertile plain, was, in the 
best sense, all my own. 

The bed-clothes had arrived and the bed had been made 
while I was out. I soon lay down, tired a little after my 
wanderings, but utterly content with the day’s achievement 
and the morrow’s promise. 

My sleep was sound, though it was once broken by a great 
pounding on the iron roof of my hut. The night was rather 
gusty, and I concluded that the elm-boughs overhead would 
be swaying in the wind. Among my purchases that after- 
noon was a little alarm-clock, which I had sat for five. It 


304 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


wakened me promptly, and I soon had the stove kindled; for 
I had laid some rasp-canes and coal-chips in the worker^s 
shed at night. While my pan was boiling, I washed at a 
spring of delicious water that bubbled into a glazed trough 
at my door. Breakfast was of tea, bread and butter, and ere 
it was over the workers had begun to gather into their shed. 
Sharp at half-past six old Cowbrough, standing at the fruit- 
house door, blew a whistle, the workers trooped past him and 
followed a man to a break of strawberries midway up the hill; 
The strawberries, I had already noticed, were planted, not as 
I had been used to them at Lowis, in single rows, but in beds 
of three rows each, an alley, some two feet and a quarter 
broad, separating the beds. There seemed to be about a 
hundred workers ; ninety-six, I afterwards found, was the 
exact figure, women mostly, with a few boys and girls of school 
age. The only man, besides Cowbrough and myself, was 
the one who had led the troop up the hill, a tall, well-built, 
country-like fellow, perhaps fifty years old. Cowbrough, whose 
weight and stiffness had kept him in the rear, soon joined us 
and shouted to the women to spread along the foot of the 
rows. Then he began, 

“ Brady, and you O’Donnell get in there ; hurry up now.” 

The two women indicated fell in at the bottom of the first 
bed, taking a side apiece. The second bed was left blank to 
give room to work ; then Cowbrough grabbed other two 
women and shoved them into the next alleys to pull the third 
bed. So he proceeded from alley to alley. All the while he 
was roaring to Somers and me to get the women into their 
places, was roaring to the women to take their places, and with 
his shouts and gestures he soon made the field a babel ; the 
workers would run here and there, getting in each other's 
way, knocking each other about ; three or four would find 
themselves crowded in the same alley, then would rush out 
leaving the alley empty, and would stand helpless for a spell, 
not knowing where to go or what to do ; and all the while 
Cowbrough kept roaring, ” Damn it ! have ye no heads ? 
What d'ye mean, Molloy, standing there ? Somers ! can 
ye not get them started ? I can’t wait here till night. Will 
ye move yer legs a wee bit faster ? Folk would think ye had 
a fifty-six at yer feet.” 

At last the old hands were all ranged, and Cowbrough had 
to tackle the new-comers. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


305 


What’s yer name ? ” Have ye ever pulled before ? ” 
“ Get in there.” ” Give her a handful of punnets, Somers.” 

After such a scene of noise and confusion as I had never wit- 
nessed the whole band was set agoing. 

Now, Bryce, take their names. This end, man, this 
end.” 

I started with Brady and O’Donnell and proceeded along 
the line, asking the name of each worker and ticking it off in 
the roll-book I had been furnished with. When I reached 
the new hands I had to enter their names. 

While I was so engaged the workers were busy. Each had 
been provided with a nest of punnets — square chip boxes, 
holding a pound of strawberries apiece. She drew two from 
the nest ; into one she gathered the larger fruit, meant for 
eating — ” the tables ” ; the other was for the smaller berries — 
the ” jams ” or ” preserves.” The ” tables ” had to be 
pulled with half an inch of stem adhering, the “ jams ” were 
husked clean. When a punnet was filled, the worker laid it 
behind her on the alley, a boy ran up and carried it to the foot 
of the row, where he set it on a large wooden board such as 
is used for holding bread. As soon as a board had received 
its full load, a boy was helped with it on to his head and took 
it down to the fruit-house. Of course, it was only after a 
time that I understood the routine, though I am describing 
it at this stage. After I had taken the roll, I was set to my 
main task. The strawberries, I have explained, were planted 
in beds, not in single rows. Now, to stride over a bed was 
more than the boys could do. Sometimes in their hurry and 
excitement they did try the jump and usually landed in the 
bed, crushing the ripe strawberries to pulp and bringing on 
themselves a storm of curses. Somers and I were understood 
to do the striding and jumping. We had to pick up the full 
punnets wherever we saw them, gather them into one alley 
and, when they amounted to four, shout to a boy who ran 
up and carried them down to the board, two in either hand. 
Besides this, we had to take care that the workers were never 
stopped for want of punnets. When a woman’s stock was 
wearing out, we shouted ” Punnets here ! ” and a boy would 
fly to the spot with a supply. To do all this for nearly a 
hundred pickers would have kept four men fairly busy, so 
that Somers and I were really working double-tides. As if 
this was not enough, we were expected to run up the alleys 

X 


3o6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


every now and then and see that the pickers were doing their 
task thoroughly. But what shall I say of old Cowbrough ? 
There was nothing he did not attempt. He hobbled up the 
alleys, examining the punnets to make sure that the right 
length of stem was left on the “ tables ” and that the “ jams '' 
were husked perfectly clean ; then he scrutinised the beds in 
case any ripe berries had been missed ; in addition, he kept 
an eye on men and boys and held them to their duties. And 
his mouth was never shut. “ What the devil d’ye mean, 
Connelly ? D’ye not know a jam-berry when ye see it ? " 
and he would grab from her punnet a strawberry that was on 
the border-line between the two kinds. “ Riley ! have ye 
nothing better to do than straighten yer back ? We’ve no 
time for that here. If ye don’t mean to work, away down to 
the fruit-house and get yer money.” ” Somers ! ” in a tone 
of despair as if there was nothing more to live for, “ are ye 
letting these women do just as they like ? Look at this, 
now ! That woman has left as many red berries as she has 
in her punnet. If this is to go on, I may as well give it up 
altogether.” 

But this was mildness compared with his treatment of the 
new hands. Many of them had never been at such work 
before and, not having been told how to proceed, they could 
only copy their neighbours, who were often as ignorant as 
themselves. Cowbrough came on one girl with a punnet of 
big and little strawberries mixed. 

” Ye blasted idiot ! Have ye come out of the asylum ? 
It would serve ye if I broke my stick across yer back.” 

Another girl had husked the big strawberries and left the 
stems on the small ones. 

Get out o’ this ! ” cried the old fellow, fairly frantic ; 
and on the girl attempting a word of defence, ” Out o’ this 
with ye ! ” he howled, with upraised stick. ” Down the road 
with ye, and never let me see yer face again. Here, you at 
the end ! come here and take this row.” 

The roaring and rampaging upset the workers, the inex- 
perienced ones, at least. Had the work been briefly explained 
to them to start with and a quiet oversight taken of it after- 
wards, they would have managed it with no trouble, for they 
were as a rule willing enough ; indeed, the most of them were 
in such poverty that they were only too anxious to keep 
their job A^ragged lot, they were, poor creatures ! all, or 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


307 


nearly all, Irish, from the Craigkenneth Wynds ; most of 
them young women of, say, eighteen to twenty-five, though 
there were some old bodies of at least threescore years and 
ten, and children of ten and less, for it was the school- vacation, 
and they had been sent out to earn a shilling. 

For a couple of hours old Cowbrough stormed ; then he 
left us and went down to the fruit-house ; but as he still had 
us in view we drove on at the same pace. The morning 
advanced. New hands were occasionally sent up to join us. 
I entered their names and the time they started. Somers and 
I kept jumping over the beds like athletes in training, shouting 
“ Quin,” ” Lannagan ! ” and so on, according as this boy or 
that was nearest, ” Punnets ! ” when we saw a woman’s 
stock running low. The work was incessant ; not a moment, 
not a thought, to spare. Cowbrough reappeared after short 
intervals, his voice as fresh as at starting, and for twenty 
minutes he would roar and rage. As the forenoon wore on, 
the sun grew very hot and the hillside, fronting the south, 
got it all. I was soft after years of easy life ; the sweat 
poured off me like rain. 

At twelve o’clock Cowbrough blew the whistle. A wave of 
relief seemed to pass over the field ; the workers straightened 
their backs, rose and trooped down to the side of my hut. 
There a fire had been kindled outside by one of the women, who 
had left half an hour before us ; a big iron plate rested on 
stones above the flames and was covered with flasks and cans. 
The pickers grabbed each her own ; the older women went 
into the shed to have their meal, the girls flung themselves 
down on the bank. Somers accompanied me into the hut, 
where my trunk served for seat and the fruit-crate for table. 

I was too tired to speak much, though I was interested in 
my companion. He was a big, strong man, and, as I had 
seen, could display agility in keeping with his strength. 
When not at work, however, he was slow in his movements 
and somewhat heavy, almost sleepy-like, in appearance. His 
features went well with his fine burly figure : a broad and 
fairly high brow, pleasant grey eyes, a shapely nose. For 
age he seemed about fifty, though his dark-brown hair and 
fairer moustache and beard were but lightly touched with 
grey. 

” Are ye tired ? ” he asked, as I sat silent. 

I nodded to save myself the exertion of speaking. 


3o8 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Wliat’s yer first name ? ” he inquired, evidently feeling 
it awkward and cold to address me without giving me my 
name. 

“ Jamie.’' 

I knew his already, for I had heard the women call him 
Kenneth. 

How easy to know when anybody takes to us ! Very little 
had been said ; but the tones of his voice, the way he looked 
at me, the little things he did for my comfort — ^giving me the 
big share of the trunk, handing me my bowl of tea, and so 
on — told more plainly than words that he found me a welcome 
arrival and was ready to make me his friend. 

If we were quiet, the young folks outside were making noise 
enough. They had soon dispatched their tea and the boys — 
are boys ever too tired to play ? — were busy at football, the 
ball being a bonnet rolled up in a string. The young women, 
too, were moving about with dancing steps, and occasionally 
threw a word in as they passed the hut. At last one girl of 
about seventeen, who was arm-in-arm with another much 
older, stopped at the door and said saucily, 

“ Look here, Kenneth, you giddy old kipper, you promised 
me a fit-on.” 

” So I did, Sarah. This is a lassie that’s fa’en in love wi’ 
ve, Jamie.’' 

The girl coloured but faced me hardily, and her smile showed 
that she was not ill-pleased to admit the impeachment. 

” Glad to hear that somebody is taking pity on me,” I said. 

What’s the name of my pretty admirer ? ” 

The girl was rather pretty, with a babyish pink-and-white 
face ; but it was her figure that was most noticeable. She 
was very slim and as tight-drawn in the waist as the most 
fashionable miss. How she could work at all in such bondage 
— and I had seen she was one of the best workers on the field 
— was a mystery. 

When I asked her name she made an arch bow. 

” Sarah Doyle, if you please. It was ” 

” Oh ! ” I interrupted ; “it would be your sister I was 
speaking to yesterday.” 

“ Right you are. You’ll have to tell me your name now.” 

“ Jamie.” 

“ Jamie Bryce,” and the girl dwelt on it a little. “ That’s 
fine. Well, I’m coming to fcep house for you.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


309 


Will the house be big enough ? ” I asked. 

The bed’s big enough,” Sarah’s companion broke in. 
She was a young woman of twenty-five or so — an Irish beauty ; 
fairly tall, well-made, with blue-black hair, and bright grey 
eyes. Her creamy cheeks, with the healthy red showing 
through, made me think of the red-hearts on the garden walls 
at Lowis. 

Her remark raised a laugh among the girls who had mostly 
gathered round to hear the talk. I was not surprised, for 
while their tongues had been clattering at lunch-time every 
other word was an oath or an obscenity. After my half- 
dozen years of respectable life, it sounded strange. 

The whistle closed our talk ; the half-hour’s interval — how 
short a half-hour ! — was ended. We trooped up the brae 
and resumed our various parts, the women pulling their 
hardest, Kenneth and I jumping our nimblest, the boys running 
their fastest, old Cowbrough roaring his loudest. The sultry 
afternoon wore on. Swallows were weaving in and out among 
the pickers, flying so close and low as almost to brush their 
faces ; titlarks rose, ” peeping ” from the green beds ; occa- 
sionally a nest of young mice was found, the bunch of withered 
grass showing markedly among the fresh leaves ; but to the 
wild life around us we could give no heed. The pace and the 
heat began to tell. Annie Docherty, Sarah’s chum, fainted. 
The work did not stop ; only Sarah sat by her as she lay on 
her back, while another girl ran for water. She soon came 
to herself, and then Sarah accompanied her off the field. 
Sarah came back in a little, but Annie did not return that day. 
Later, another young woman turned sick. She left without 
assistance, and in an hour was at her work again. The next 
to break down was a boy. It was no wonder ; the boys’ 
work was perhaps the hardest of all. Besides clearing off the 
full punnets that Kenneth and I gathered in to the alleys and 
fetching supplies of empties, they had to take each his turn 
at carr5dng the full boards down to the fruit-house. The 
biggest board held twenty-six punnets of a pound apiece, and 
would weigh a good stone itself. One of the boys started 
bleeding at the nose. This only kept him off work for half an 
hour till the bleeding stopped. Though I tell these incidents 
now, they made no impression on me at the time ; I was too 
much concerned with myself. As the afternoon advanced I 
became utterly exhausted. Only with a painful struggle 


310 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


could I cross the beds, my throat was so parched that I could 
not shout, and it cost me an effort even to speak. The 
thought of old times of agony at the Mailing would flash on 
me, and I would feel, as I did then, that something might 
give way at any moment and I might die. Cowbrough 
would retire to the fruit-house at intervals, then would re- 
appear with legs and lungs rested and the roaring began. 
The last time he came among us he was foaming. 

‘'It’s a quarter-past four and ye’ve three hundredweight 
of berries to make up yet. Damnation ! How d’ye think 
orders can be filled at this rate ? Am I going to pay you for 
nothing ? I’ll take damned good care it pays me before it 
pays you. Bryce ! Where’s your eyes ? D’ye not see the 
punnets there ? Misskilly ! ” — to one of the boys, — “ what are 
ye hanging about there for ? Go down the road if ye can’t 
move yer legs. The devil take you, Welsh ! ” in a howl of 
rage and despair, as a woman lifted her head, “ Can ye find 
nothing to do but straighten yer back ? ” and on he stormed 
without a moment’s rest till the sound of a buzzer reached us 
from Craigkenneth. With one movement all the pullers gave 
a glance upwards, though they did not stop their work ; 
Cowbrough took out his watch, then blew the whistle. The 
pickers made for the fruit-house with their half-full punnets, 
then crossed to the shed for the shawls which most of them 
brought in case of rain, and soon they were off, the girls linking 
arms and singing a street-song then in vogue about “ Sausages 
for tea.” Kenneth and I had some barrels and crates to shift, 
and as soon as Cowbrough with his wife and son, who did the 
fruit-house work, had left, we trailed ourselves to the hut and 
sank down. 

We did not speak, we did not move ; all we could do was 
to hold ourselves together. My bones were as if I had been 
beaten for an hour with a stick, my tongue cleaved to the roof 
of my mouth. How I looked I cannot tell ; Kenneth’s eyes 
were wild like a hunted creature’s. After sitting with scarcely 
a word for, say, ten minutes, we drew ourselves up a little 
and prepared for our work of entering the time in my register. 
This was properly my task, and it was only Kenneth’s kindness 
that made him help me till I grew familiar with the names. 

” Brady, ten hours. That right ? ” I asked. 

” Yes, Jamie.” 

“O’Donnell, ten hours. Doyle, ten hours, Docherty, ten ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


311 

“ No, Jamie,'" interrupted my friend. “ Docherty left 
before her time. That was the lassie that turned badly." 

" You’re right. Annie. Let’s see. She would go off 
about three o’clock. We’ll say three. So she’ll only have 
eight hours." 

“ Ay, Jamie. And it’ll keep ye in mind, maybe, if ye just 
put it doon in yer book at the time when onybody leaves." 

" So I will after this. O’Brien ten hours." And so we 
went through the list. It was long and confusing, for some 
of the workers had the same surname, and they had to be 
distinguished not by their first name but by numbers. 
There were four Dochertys, for instance, whom we had to 
enter in the roll-book, and even address on the field as Doc- 
herty I, Docherty 2, and so on. The work had to be carefully 
done, too. Cowbrough had a hawk-eye for faults, and the 
women would know their own time and, if I made a mistake, 
would let me hear about it on pay-day. It took over half an 
hour to get through. 

"I’ll see about tea now," I remarked, though I was still 
too exhausted to care for food. 

" Ye'd have been better, Jamie, to kindle the stove first ; 
it would ha’ been ready by noo." 

" But that would have kept you waiting." 

" It wouldna ha’ been long, Jamie." 

He brought in some old rasp-canes and soon had a fire. 
He would not share my meal, however ; his mother would 
have his supper ready, he said. 

As I sat alone at tea I was not brooding over the worker’s 
hardships or thinking of my surroundings or recalling the 
friends and the sweetheart I had left. Nothing of all this 
was in my thoughts. I was merely asking myself with fearful 
anxiety, Could I survive this toil ? Had the first day not 
wrought some serious, some mortal, mischief ? My body was 
on fire, my throat and mouth powerless, and when I tried to 
clear them the thick saliva was always tinged with blood. It 
was well for me that I was too exhausted to think long even 
about this. I was soon in bed and I must have slept at once. 
I had got through my first day as a labourer. It was not quite 
what I had looked for. 


312 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXXII 

T he little alarm-clock wakened me at five the next 
morning. My bones still ached, my throat was 
as dry as ever, and when I tried my voice to 
know whether I could speak, the sound was 
strange. The day was a repetition of the first, except that 
old Cowbrough was hardly so much among us. He had a 
gun, and he often left us and peppered the birds, which were 
very greedy on the strawberries. At the dinner-hour the 
woman Macdermott who attended to the hot-plate looked in 
at the hut. 

“ My God ! ” she remarked, “ I wouldn't stop here for a 
thousand pounds. Would you, Kinneth ? ” 

“;Why not ? " I inquired. 

“ Whoy, there’s so miny blackguards about, they’ll have 
ye moordered before ye know where ye are. Tom Mailer ” — 
this was the man who had occupied the hut the summer before 
— “ used to keep Cowbrough’s gun besoide him, and he did this 
and this,” and she made a rapid wheel as if pouring volleys 
into an invisible host that had beset the hut on all sides. 

I sniffed. 

” What would folk do here ? They know well enough 
there’s nothing to steal.” 

” My God ! you’ll see.” 

Ere Cowbrough left that evening he called to me, 

” Bryce ! can ye use the gun ? ” 

” Yes.” 

“ I’ve left it in the hut with a lot of cartridges. Blaze 
away at every blackie and mavis ye see, or we’ll soon not have 
a berry left.” 

Sure enough my castle was assailed that night. Half an 
hour past midnight I was awakened by a loud winning outside. 
When I opened the door, which was only secured by a string 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


313 


inside to keep it from being blown open by the wind, something 
white entered. It was Cowbrough’s sable-and-white collie 
that usually spent the day about the fruit-house. He curled 
himself at once on the floor. His company was welcome, all 
the more that he apparently took the welcome for granted. 

After the third day, though my bones were still tired and 
sore, I had a feeling that with fair luck I might survive. The 
hope heartened me, and no doubt would help its own fulfil- 
ment. That evening both the collie and the fox-terrier re- 
mained at the field instead of accompan5dng their master 
home. Their motive I cannot tell ; it certainly was not 
hunger, for they declined my proffered biscuits. Ere I was 
done with supper that night, a heavy step sounded outside 
and the next moment Kenneth entered. He would not share 
my meal, and while I was eating he brought in some wood 
from the shed and proceeded to split and saw it for kindling. 
Our talk ran on the work and the workers. After a remark I 
made on the way the women were driven, Kenneth asked in 
a tone of curiosity, 

“ What made ye tak’ up this way o’ daein’, Jamie ? ” 

I explained to Kenneth that I had become concerned about 
working-people, and anxious to see them more comfortable 
and independent. At last I saw that the only way, at any 
rate the first way, to help them was to come off their back. 
You can’t Hft a man as long as you are sitting on him. Come 
off his back and the chances are he will lift himself. As soon 
as I saw this truth I acted on it. I had been in a situation 
where I was over the workers and drove them on ; I gave 
that up, came down to their level, and was now a worker myself. 

Finding him sympathetic, I went on to say that well-to-do 
people appeared to have the notion that unless they ruled and 
managed the workers, things would go to perdition. The 
truth was, it was these very rulers and managers that were 
sending things to perdition. If they stopped meddling with 
the workers and tried to make a living with their own hands, 
the workers would soon put themselves right. 

Dash the doot o’ that, Jamie,” said Kenneth. ” If a man 
had grund and was free to work it for himsel’ and his family, 
what’s to hinder him frae makin’ a livin’ ? What need has 
he o’ anybody ower him ? ” 

While we talked he had been busy with the firewood, and 
had afterwards fixed the stove-pipe, which threatened to 


314 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


come to pieces. The talk had brightened me, and when 
Kenneth took one of the cartridges from a ledge to examine 
it, I asked, 

" Do you care for a shot ? " 

He shook his head. 

“ We could go up anyway and see if there are any rabbits 
about," I suggested. 

I no sooner appeared outside with the gun under my arm 
than the collie slunk off and made down the road. Kenneth 
told me it could not bear the sight of the gun. Probably it 
had been fired at on some occasion. The little fox-terrier, 
on the other hand, attended us with evident delight, and had 
the sense neither to give a bark nor to run far ahead. We 
strolled up the woodside, and the rabbits came scuttling out 
from among the rasps. I did not fire, however, as I had noticed 
that first evening that the most of them were to be found at 
the top corner round the bend of the wood. I picked out a 
fair-sized one and knocked it over, though I did not kill it 
outright. It gave a kick or two, but the foxy was on it in a 
moment, worrying out its life. I saw that my butcher's bill 
would not be heavy so long as I had the gun. 

That was a night of visitors. On our way back we were met 
by two lads belonging to Sparkwell House, the mansion in 
the lower part of the wood — one a stable-boy, the other a 
'prentice-gardener. The young horseman had a concertina 
on which he rendered Corn-crakes among the whinny knowes 
till his hearers had no excuse for not being perfect in the tune. 
Then his mate produced a pack of cards, and we played 
Catch-the-ten, followed by Nap for " spunks." It was near 
midnight ere my guests, human and canine, bade me each in 
his own way a friendly good-night. 

The next day Cowbrough was only with us for two hours in 
the morning ; he had to attend the weekly fruit-market in 
the great city. We worked, if not as slavishly, certainly with 
as good results, and we did not feel the work, for we had 
peace. Near the dinner-hour rain came on. The workers 
hung on a while on the chance of its fairing, then made 
for home. Kenneth and I were at joiner-work all the after- 
noon. Behind the fruit-house were piles of empty crates, 
strong wooden boxes, three feet long, one broad, two deep. 
A crate held three rows of punnets, tier above tier, the two 
upper rows resting on thin shelves. Many of these shelves 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


315 


were missing. No wonder. I used them for kindling-stuff 
when the rasp-canes were damp, and I suspected the woman 
Macdermott did the same. 

On the Saturday the pickers dropped at one o’clock, and 
were paid at the fruit-house by Cowbrough’s wife and son. 
After Kenneth had been paid, Cowbrough called to his son, 
“ Take three-and-fourpence off a pound,” and indicated that 
I should have the remainder. My pay was therefore to be 
a pound per week. It was exactly a quarter of what I had 
been drawing ; yet I never took money with greater satis- 
faction. After the pickers left, Kenneth and I had to set the 
fruit-crates in order, and we were not finished till our usual 
hour, five o’clock. 

We had arranged that I should call for him in the evening 
and accompany him into Craigkenneth. His home was in 
the village, a but-and-ben in a thatched row, the only 
houses of the kind still left. Even they had foregone their 
dignity as relics, for the thatched roof, instead of being renewed, 
had been covered with corrugated iron. When I knocked at 
the outer door, or doors rather, for it was in two halves, my 
friend’s ^oice called, ” Come in, Jamie ; in this way,” and 
turning to the left I found myself in the kitchen. Kenneth, 
with clean face and brushed hair, attired in his best trousers, 
a striped wincey shirt and white collar, was sitting on a plain 
wooden chair and holding himself steady to let his mother 
pin down to his shirt the knot-tie she had just fastened. 

” This is Mr. Bryce, mither,” he added, as his mother 
finished her task and turned to me. 

Somewhat to my surprise she did not take my offered hand. 
Yet there was the true tone of welcome in her voice as she 
said, 

” We’re pleased to have ye under our roof, sir. Kenneth 
speaks often, often o’ you.” 

She was evidently very old, and, though she must have 
been fairly tall in her prime, she was much drawn together 
with age, besides being crippled as if with rheumatism. Her 
face had a calm yet serious expression, ” neither sad nor 
joyous,” that I sometimes remark among the aged poor. It 
was from her that Kenneth had his good features, though her 
eyes, which were large and shining, were a dark hazel. 

On the table before the little window tea had been set, and 
I took a cup with my two friends. More than once the old 


3i6 the story of A PLOUGHBOY 

body surg^rised me a little by stroking my arm as she sat near 
me. 

“ Are ye tired, Jamie ? ” Kenneth asked ere we were well 
seated. It was a common question with him. 

I told him I was feeling fresher than I had done since start- 
ing, and added with a laugh that I wasn’t going to die among 
the strawberries, after all. 

“ Kenneth tells me ye’ve nae mother ? ” the old woman 
inquired. 

“ No ; she died when I was quite young.” 

” Ay, she’d ha’ been wae for ye, and yet she’d ha* been 
prood o’ ye tae. It’s a hard, hard lot, but ye’ll no gang 
withoot a reward for standin’ up for the poor.” 

It was my first word of encouragement. It shamed and 
humbled me, so poorly was it deserved ; yet spoken by one 
so old, spoken too with such sincerity and feeling, it almost 
melted me to tears. Perhaps it affected me the more that I 
had just made a discovery about the speaker : Kenneth’s 
mother was blind. 

My friend seemed impatient to be off, if impatience could be 
attributed to one so deliberate in all his ways ; so we were 
soon on the road, after the old woman had given her promise not 
to sit up late. Though it was now eight o’clock, the sun was 
still well above the horizon and the western sky glowed with 
golden light. Kenneth, I soon noticed, had a trick of sweeping 
the heavens with a long and comprehensive glance, and after 
one of these surveys he addressed me with the question, 

” Wad ye say, Jamie, that the Universe is infinite, or d’ye 
think it has boonds ? ” 

The words were so unexpected that I could only respond 
with a counter-question, 

” What do you mean, Kenneth ? ” 

” Weel, Jamie, ye ken that the sun there is the centre o’ 
oor system. The earth and the rest o’ the planets move roond 
the sun. Noo, ye wad think that the sun and ither stars 
maun mak’ up a bigger system and move roond some bigger 
body that is to them what the sun is to us. Then that bigger 
body and its neebours will move roond some ane bigger still, 
and so the thing will go on withoot end. D’ye no think sae, 
Jamie ? ” 

It was the first hint given me that Kenneth knew or cared 
anything about such problems. Had my friend started talking 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


317 


Chinese, I could not have been more amazed, and my wonder 
did not diminish as he proceeded in slow speech but with lucid 
reasoning to show that we could not conceive a limit to space ; 
even if grosser matter ended, something finer, but quite as 
real, must be present. I was not versed in this lore, and my 
companion had most of the talk to himself. 

On entering the town Kenneth halted at the first public-house 
and suggested a glass of beer. To him, perhaps, this little dissi- 
pation was a sign that the week's toil was over, and that we 
had before us a few hours' rest and pleasure. That, at least, 
was how it appeared to me — after the drink. A few minutes' 
easy walking and we were at the Steeple. Nothing seemed 
changed since the nights when Dannie Martin and I used to 
frequent the spot, though five good years had passed since I 
had been at the Steeple of a Saturday night. The ploughmen 
were still gathered in a shifting crowd as they had been in the 
old days ; some even that I knew then were here to-night, 
though altered more or less, and of course many were known 
to me from my long sojourn at the estate office. These last, 
I could see, were discussing me ; but I no longer feared to 
look them in the face. To those whom I used to greet in my 
lordly days with a patronising nod I nodded now, though not 
with the same air, and they responded, most of them cordially 
enough. Beyond the Steeple we passed the Salvation Army 
roaring out a hymn, then we reached Guild Street, the thorough- 
fare that leads to the Wynd regions and the castle. It was 
a moving mass : townsfolk, country-folk, drunk, sober, all 
contributing to the wild hubbub. Street-vendors, standing 
just clear of the kerb, were offering the latest things in shirt- 
studs or children's toys, or halting their barrows to sound the 
praises of their damaged strawberries, or calling “ Hot chips ! ” 
from the box of their donkey- vans ; street-singers were wailing 
at every dozen yards, and when we were halfway up the 
thoroughfare an elderly man, haggard, starved-looking, dressed 
in rags, stepped from the pavement into the street with a 
penny whistle raised for action. I paused a moment, curious 
to hear what strain such a woeful wretch would raise ; it 
was I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls. I thought of the 
contrast between the dream and the truth ; I thought, too, 
of Nina, poor Nina I who used to render tha^ song superbly. 
Climbing the street we began to meet our acquaintances of the 
strawberry field. The girls were dancing along, a m-in-arm, 


318 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


exchanging chaff with the corner-boys. A few of them 
were in their best attire ; some were just as they had been at 
work ; the most had compromised and appeared in clean 
petticoat and shawl, their faces well scrubbed, their hair in 
curling-pins as if waiting for the Sunday’s display. Sarah 
and Annie, both smartly dressed but bare-headed, made up 
to us and asked to be treated to a fish supper. We got away 
by suggesting that we might see them later. At the top of 
Guild Street we reached the Wynds and were done with 
respectability. The transition was evidenced by this : all 
the denizens of this new region, the young girls excepted, wore 
their every-day garb. The navvies, who staggered about and 
shouted and fought, bore on their moleskins splashes of clay 
from the drains they had left a few hours before ; the women, 
who gave them oath for oath, were in dirty shortgown and 
petticoat. 

“ So you like this bit of the town best ? ” I said to Kenneth, 
as I noticed how he had relaxed and made himself at home. 

“ Ay, Jamie ; this is Nature. The folks here hae nae 
pretence aboot them ; they let ye see them just as they are. 
And you don’t need to put on ony show or mak’-believe 
either. And that’s what I like.” 

” They certainly show themselves very much as they are,” 

I admitted. 

” Although,” resumed Kenneth, ” I don’t a’thegither gie in 
wi’ their ways either. I think ye could be natural and yet 
be quiet and decent. A lot o’ them go beyond the boonds o’ 
decency and mak’ beasts o’ themselves.” 

When we returned to the principal streets and were thinking 
of home, Kenneth suggested a parting glass in the Royal 
Hotel bar ; the beer there was good. I knew that, for I had 
often sampled it in my factor days. The bar was crowded, 
by well-dressed townsmen mostly, though the ruddy faces 
of ploughmen showed here and there. Every bench and chair 
was occupied, and at the counter, where we had to stand, the 
crush was so great that Kenneth and I were forced apart and 
each had to find standing-room where he could. I was well 
through with my drink when someone at my elbow accosted 
me. 

” Excuse me, but if you’ve about finished with your beer, 
you might take up this whisky. I’ve never touched it. I 
stood a friend a glass, and he insisted on standing me one 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


319 

before he left ; but I felt I had enough already, and I haven't 
taken a drop.” 

I had turned to survey the stranger who made this friendly 
offer. He was a man somewhere about forty-five, short and 
slight, with small features and a pale though healthy com- 
plexion. His hair was black and his face was clean-shaven, 
except for little bits of side-whiskers. We passed a word or 
two about the heat and the crush, as I sipped his whisky ; 
then my friend, who seemed a Cockney from his talk, said, 

” Excuse me, but don’t you think you’d be better at some 
other job, some easier job ? ” I eyed him questioningly, and 
he continued, “I’ve seen you among the strawberries. I’m 
with Mr. Curror, just below you.” 

” Oh ! At Sparkwell House,” I said. 

” Yes. I know what I’m talking about,” he went on, 
” for I’ve been in a lighter situation myself. I’m a groom to 
trade, but I was out of a place for a while and had to take 
labouring work in gardens, and I find it very heavy. And 
when I saw you running about in the heat, I thought it a pity 
you had such hard work, for I understand you’re a good scholar 
and could fill a good situation. A clerk’s place, now — wouldn’t 
that suit you better ? It’s more like you ; you’d find it 
much lighter.” 

I was amused. His notions were so natural, so shallow and 
foolish. 

” I have been at such work,” I explained, ” and left it just 
because it was light and genteel. I wanted to be at something 
useful. It’s lighter work and cleaner work to sit in an office 
and handle a pen, but what does it mean ? It means that 
some other body must be doing the heavy and dirty work for 
you as well as for himself, providing food and clothes and so 
forth for you. I felt that wasn’t fair ; I must do my share. 
So I tried to get work on farms and market-gardens, but 
couldn’t. Then I tried Cowbrough’s fruit-place, and got in 
there. That’s raising food of a kind, and while I’m at that 
I feel I’m doing something useful.” 

The ex-groom looked mystified. After a little he said, 

” That’s right enough ; but I hold that a man must con- 
sider himself. Everybody does. Why, only last week there 
Mr. Curror came round to the garden to me, and he says, 
’ Wordley, they’re getting up a subscription to raise the 
clergyman’s stipend ; could you give a little ? Mr. Greig 


320 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


has only £250 a year ; it’s far too little for a man in his posi- 
tion." I said, ‘ No, Mr. Curror ; I’m sorry I can’t see my way 
to give anything. Mr. Greig goes about with a good coat on 
his back and hasn’t the -hard work I have, and I don’t get 
£250 a year. I think he has more need to help me than I have 
to give him anything. Other people may be able, to spare 
him something, but I’m not.’ And he went away not very 
pleased-looking, but I wasn’t minding.” 

By this the bar was being cleared ; so we said good-night, 
and I had no further chance at the time of hearing my new 
friend^s views on economics. Kenneth and I had a final 
saunter through the streets, then set our faces towards 
home. 

Though the night was moonless, it was the night of mid- 
summer, and thought could not associate it with darkness. 
Overhead was the dark-blue vault with here and there a star, 
and in front, above the western peaks, the pure hyaline yet 
lingered. Above the sheeny space shone the evening star. 

” Venus is the evenin’ star the noo,” remarked my com- 
panion. 

It may have been the planet’s influence that gave Kenneth’s 
thoughts their next turn. 

” My mither ’ll be glad to see me hame sae sune, Jamie. 
It’s aye twelve at the earliest ere I’m back.” 

” And do you just wander about the streets all these hours 
after the public-houses close ? ” 

” No, no, Jamie. I spend the nicht wi’ the lasses.” 

The confession had been made with even more than his 
usual caution and tentativeness, and as I offered no response 
he may have taken my silence for disapproval, for he asked, 

” D’ye no approve o’ that Jamie ? ” 

” Well, Kenneth,” I said, ” it depends a good deal on what 
you mean. If you mean that you’re courting some woman 
with a view to marriage, well ” 

” Ay, but I’ve nae thocht o’ that. I gang wi’ ony ane I 
can pick up.” 

“You don’t mean the strawberry- workers ? ” 

“ No exactly, Jamie.” 

“ They’re hardly girls on the street. You wouldn’t say 
so, would you ? ” 

“ No quite, Jamie. Maybe hauf and hauf. They work 
for a living, but a lot o’ them wadna object to eke it oot by 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


32t 


Something else. But there’s plenty in the Wynds that live 
by what they can make off men.” 

” And it’s with them you go ? ” 

” Ay.” As I made no comment, he went on, “It’s nature, 
Jamie. A’ the animals do ’t, and we’re just animals. Ye 
wadna say there was onything wrang in ’t, wad ye, Jamie ? ” 

” Well, here’s how I’d be inclined to look at it. Girls 
wouldn’t make their living in that way unless there were men 
who used them. So that it’s the men who are responsible. 
Now, suppose you had a sister, Kenneth ; would you like her 
to be leading such a life, and would you think well of the men 
who were encouraging her to do it ? ” 

The argument did not touch Kenneth, perhaps because 
he had never had a sister. He repeated that it was a natural 
thing for man and woman, as natural as for the beasts, and 
in the calm tone of the man of science, who looks at all things 
and is shocked at nothing, he went on to instance bulls and 
dogs and cocks that not only courted promiscuously but 
would even make up to their own mothers or daughters. I 
tried him another way. 

"You say that it’s natural for the lower animals to do this 
and that, and no doubt it is. Have they any notion of another 
way of living than the one they are following ? I mean to say, 
they eat when they’re hungry, they gratify their other senses 
when they have the desire and the chance, and I suppose they 
never had a thought that they might do otherwise, that they 
might restrain themselves sometimes. That is so, isn’t 
it ? ” 

" Ay, Jamie ; I daursay it is.” 

" But man has this idea. He has the feeling at times that 
he need not gratify his senses, indeed, should not gratify 
them, that he might be doing something better.” 

" Ay, Jamie, but that’s merely the effect o’ custom or con- 
vention — ^what ye ca’ convention, Jamie. It’s a notion that 
has been put into us frae the ootside, by education and law 
and sic-like. It’s no the teachin’ o’ Nature. If we lived 
accordin’ to Nature, we wad dae just the same as the animals, 
tak’ oor fill o’ meat and drink and ither things whenever we 
felt inclined.” 

I felt that Kenneth was no ’prentice in the art of thinking. 
He had reflected on the starry heavens above him and the 
moral law within him, and I was a novice by comparison. I 

Y 


322 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


was not convinced by his reasoning ; indeed, I felt it had a 
flaw, though I could not point it out at the moment. 

Blessed was my rest that night. No alarm to set, no 
whistle to fear for the morrow. It was far into the Sunday 
morning when I woke, and I lay waking a long time, watching 
the sunlight streaming in by the chinks of my wooden walls 
and dreaming of things far off and near at hand. My thoughts 
were pleasant. Recalling the kind and dear ones left in the old 
life, I felt no melancholy ; looking to my present situation, 
I was inspired with courage and hope. The first week of toil 
was over and I still lived ; more, I felt equal to the work, 
straining as it was. And how sustaining to know that though 
it was performed under unnatural, ay, inhuman, conditions, 
the work itself was natural and useful. Lucky was I to have 
lighted on such a spot ! How, where, could I have done 
better ? 

While I was filling my kettle from the crystal well and 
washing myself in the trough, the kirk-bell down the brae 
was ringing for morning service, and the fainter music from 
Craigkenneth steeples reached me from the east. After 
breakfast I climbed a knoll in the middle of the strawberry- 
field and gazed long at the broad prospect that spread, bright 
and clear, under the morning sun. Often I turned eastward, 
vdth no devotee's motive, I confess, but in the endeavour to 
distinguish old familiar haunts. In this direction, however, 
and only in this, the view was intercepted, for a wood on this 
side bounded the strawberry-field. Then it occurred to me 
that this was the first time I had surveyed the landscape since 
I started work five days ogo. Though but a glance was 
needed to enjoy one of the loveliest scenes of the world, my 
time, my thought, my strength had all been needed for the 
daily task, and I had never been able to spare that glance. 
At the end of a working-day I could have told whether it 
had been wet or sunny, but how the fair country looked I 
knew no more than if I had been living in a dungeon. 

I did not encourage this strain of reflection, for I felt the 
time for it was not yet ; besides, I had another subject for 
thought. The talk I had had with Kenneth the night before 
still interested'me, and I tried to make my opinions clearer to 
myself than I had done to him. My friend came sauntering 
up in the afternoon, and we spent the rest of the day among 
the strawberries, for Cowbrough had charged me to remain 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


323 


on the ground for fear of raiders. Ere I could resume the 
last night’s discussion, Kenneth had started another almost 
as important. It was his custom on Sundays, he told me, 
to read the weekly paper to his old mother, and that forenoon 
he had been reading the trial of a notorious criminal who had 
been condemned to death for murdering his paramour. 
Kenneth’s views of crime and punishment, I found, were 
original. 

“ I dinna see that one body has a richt to punish anither. 
If we just look at oorsel’s, we’ve a’ plenty o’ bad in us and 
we’re no fit to judge oor neebours. We’re as bad as them ; 
only it may be a different kind o’ badness.” 

I stated some obvious difficulties, not that I was opposed 
to my friend’s views, but because I liked to ” see him think.” 
It may have been his fondness for contemplating the infinite 
and eternal — the starry heavens, the aeons of existence — 
that gave him his power of surveying moral problems with a 
great wide sweep ; or, more likely, it was in him from the 
first. It certainly was fresh and stimulating to me. When 
we had discussed this new question for a while I brought him 
back to the other. 

” Here’s what I wanted to say last night, Kenneth, only 
I couldn’t express myself quite clearly. You spoke as if 
life should consist in gratifying the bodily senses, in getting 
the best food, the finest drink, the prettiest women, and so on. 
Wasn’t that your meaning ? ” 

” Ay, Jamie, so long as we dinna interfere wi’ oor neebours. 
If we were likely to dae harm to them, we should draw the 
line there.” 

” Well, suppose for the moment that we could get all this 
sensual pleasure without harming other people in the least ; 
suppose roast beef and bottles of whisky and fine-looking 
girls grew on trees in such abundance that every man might 
have all he wanted for the plucking ; you would say he should 
pluck them, and couldn’t do better ? ” 

” Ay, Jamie ; I see nae objection.” 

Well, but there’s another way of looking at this body 
of ours. We may look on it not as a thing to be pampered 
and gratified, but as an instrument for doing the work of the 
soul. By ‘ soul ’ I mean just the thinking power in us ; it 
doesn’t matter whether you call it soul or spirit or thought 
or anything else. It’s a power or a nature that man has and 


324 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


the lower animals have not, at any rate have not in the same 
degree or anything like it. Well, may it not be that this 
soul, this spiritual nature, is the important thing in man, is 
the power that ought to rule, and that the body should be 
looked on as the instrument for doing its work ? Here’s how 
I’ll make it plain, Kenneth. A man has a spade. Well, 
what should we think of him if he hung the spade up and 
polished it, and spent his time serving it and worshipping 
it ? Shouldn’t we say that he was turning things topsy- 
turvy ? The spade is meant for doing the man’s work. 
Now, it may be that the body is the spade of the soul, the instru- 
ment that the soul needs, and ought to use, for doing its 
work.” 

” I see, Jamie,” said Kenneth. A moment later he added, 
” I never thocht o’t that way afore.” 

I must say I was not a little puffed up at having given my 
reflective friend a new thought. 

” But, Jamie,” asked Kenneth after a short silence, ” what 
wad ye say was the work that the soul should use the body 
for ? ” 

“ Here’s how I should look at it, Kenneth. What is true 
life ? When is a man truly living ? He is truly living 
when he is living up to, at least trying to live up to, the highest 
and best that’s in him, all that he feels and knows to be best. 
Don’t you think so ? ” 

Kenneth reflected a moment, then answered, 

” Ay, Jamie.” 

” Well, the highest and best feeling that’s in man is, I think, 
love for all his fellow-creatures and desire for their good. I 
don’t know of anything better. Do you, Kenneth ? ” 

” No, Jamie. That’s the best I can think o’ — to hae a 
kindly feeling to everybody and everything. I tak’ it, that’s 
what ye mean, Jamie ? ” 

” That’s it exactly, Kenneth ; to have a desire for the good 
of everybody, and even, as you say, of everything that exists. 
But, of course, this desire must show itself in action. Love 
that didn’t do something for the good of the loved one would 
be no love at all. Well, it’s by means of the body that this 
love expresses itself ; it’s with the bodily organs that we 
speak kind words and do helpful acts to our neighbours. 
And it seems to me that the main thing for one to do who is 
concerned about his fellow-creatures and wants to help them 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


325 


is simply to start getting his living with his own hands, in 
fact, to become a common labourer, and so take himself off 
the workers' backs. That should be the first thing, anyway, 
and of course it’s with the body that we do that.” 

I had been watching Kenneth as I made my points, and I 
saw that he followed me intelligently. When I was done 
he gave me a sidelong glance which expressed more than 
interest, something of surprise, namely, as if he had got more 
than he looked for. He made no comment for a little, and 
when he did speak, all he said was, 

” Ye're a thinker, Jamie.” 

I was flattered, and had I known my friend as I came to 
know him later I should have rated the praise still higher. 
Kenneth, I found, divided the human family into two classes — 
” thinkers,” very few, and ” nae thinkers,” the vast mass of 
humanity ; and even when admitting of some rare acquaint- 
ance that he was a thinker, Kenneth had occasionally to 
qualify the acknowledgment with ” He's no the finished 
article.” Seemingly he made no qualification in my case, 
for from this date he evinced a disposition to refer to me as 
a final authority on all abstract problems. Happily, I did 
not covet the r61e of oracle ; nor did I for a moment think 
myself worthy to fill it. 


326 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXXIII 

W HEN I engaged with Cowbrough, I had a fear 
that he might make a distinction between my- 
self and the other hands and treat me as if I 
still belonged to his set. Ere the first day was 
over I knew the fear was groundless. The old fellow did not 
care what I had been ; all he was concerned about was to get 
as much work out of me as he could. I had to take a turn at 
anything. If women were scarce or an order had to be filled 
at short notice, I was sent to pick. My first afternoon at 
that task will never be forgotten. By the end of the first 
hour the small of my back felt as if it were slit with a knife ; 
a worm when the spade is going through it — I was like that. 
I wriggled and writhed, seelang some posture that would give 
ease and yet let me work without intermission, for to stop 
and straighten my back would have brought on me a round 
of savage jeers. After another hour the pain was bearable. 
That night I was completely done ; yet this was work that 
women and even children did for ten hours every day. 

Once there was a scarcity of boys ; some of them were ill. 
I had to help at carrying the board of punnets. When it 
was laid on my head it was like to crush me to the earth. 
Then there was the difficulty of keeping a steady footing 
down the hill ; one slip and the precious load would be wasted. 
As it happened, too, we were pulling that day at the far corner 
of the field, so that I had a good quarter of a mile to cover. 
When I did reach the fruit-house and was helped off with the 
board, what relief ! blessed ! unspeakable ! Yet boys of 
twelve walked under that load without a stagger. Of course, 
there are tricks in all tasks. Ere starting with the next load 
I took care to have it evenly poised on my head ; that was a 
great help. And one of the boys gave me a useful hint. He 
told me to stuff my cap with strawberry-leaves. The padding 
saved my skull wonderfully 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


327 


After sampling the different tasks I was not surprised at 
the workers occasionally breaking down. They were at a 
disadvantage, too, as compared with me : they had a three- 
miles tramp morning and night. We started work, as I have 
said, at half-past six, and sometimes even, when specially 
busy, as early as four. Then many of the women had to 
make their own meals and do all their housework. How they 
found any time for sleep it was not easy to see. More than 
that. I often heard voices in the shed before I was up. A 
few of the oldest women, two of them with their grandchildren, 
came so early to have an hour’s rest between their long tramp 
and their work. When old Biddy Harkins quietly explained 
that to me, I felt queer. 

It was noticeable that the old women rarely broke down. 
Mere skeletons, the wrinkled skin showing every bone, they 
had been used to heavy, long-continued work from child- 
hood, and they went on like machines. They had resources, 
too, disdained by the younger folks. All smoked, when 
not at work, and no mild brand either, but the blackest of 
twist in the shortest and blackest of cutties. At times, too, 
even on the field, they furtively snatched from beneath their 
shortgowns battered tin boxes and with bony fingers extracted 
huge pinches of Taddy that were soon engulfed in their yawn- 
ing nostrils. These old bodies grew very interesting to me. 
At the dinner half-hour I used to listen to them jabbering in 
Erse, doubtless recalling scenes familiar to them in old Ireland 
long, long ago. Sometimes I joined them and got in my own 
tongue something of their history. Yes, every one of those 
poor creatures had a history — to herself all-important. Old 
Kate Finneran told me, for instance, that she was born in 
County Mayo — Balhna, I think, was the name of the place — 
and lived there till she was fourteen. Some older brothers 
and sisters had gone to America, and one brother sent money 
to take her over as well. But her father — “ he was fonder, 
sure, of other people’s children than his own ” — gave the 
money to a niece who wanted out. Kate came to this 
country with a band of shearers in the days when hand and 
hook did the work now done by the self-binder ; at a High- 
land farm where she was harvesting the farmer’s folk took 
a fancy to her, partly because she could talk to them in their 
own tongue, and induced her to stay as servant. Kate never 
saw old Ireland more. Macdermott, the woman who looked 


328 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


after the hot plate — she was not old, however, and was one 
of the best pickers — ^was so given to sculduddery that I thought 
poorly of her for a while ; afterwards I gathered that she was 
the sole bread-winner of the household, was up great part of 
the night washing and mending for her young children and 
bedridden husband, and even on Saturday afternoons went 
out to earn a shilling by charing. The young women were 
mostly good-looking, their complexions not greatly coarsened 
by exposure, their figures not yet pulled out of shape by their 
straining toil. Irish all by blood, though born this side the 
water, and speaking not with the brogue but in the passable 
grammar and vulgar accent that compulsory schooling has 
made common. They might be heard talking of motor-caps 
and new costumes and threepence-a-head dances, of strolls 
with soldiers along the Back Walk, of “ captures " on Saturday 
nights when well-to-do fellows made their way into the Wynd 
regions. Indeed, their talk, except for differences in details, 
was very like what I had heard from young ladies with white 
hands and carefully preserved complexions. There was this 
striking difference, certainly : with my new friends every 
other word was obscene ; but the obscenity, being coarse and 
undisguised, had rather a disgusting effect ; there was none 
of that suggestiveness that is so much more dangerous for 
the passions. Some of the girls, Sarah notably, pestered 
me with their offers till they understood that my thoughts 
were not tending that way ; after that they were content to 
be friends, treating me with a freedom that would have 
seemed appalling to strangers though I soon thought nothing 
of it. The lovers they seriously cared for were, I found, the 
young Yahoos who had been brought up in the same conditions. 
That many of the soldiers were sprung from this class would 
no doubt explain the good understanding that existed between 
them and my girl-friends. 

The hungry street-Arab flattens his nose on the windows 
of pastry-shops, and the strawberry-girls must have taken 
some such way of gratifying their desire for finery. Their 
pay could not have allowed them to make a nearer acquaint- 
ance with it. The wages were graded, from two shillings, 
the pay of the best pickers, to ninepence or tenpence, the rate 
for children. This was for a ten hour’s day. Overtime was 
paid extra, but then broken time, owing to bad weather, had 
to be reckoned with. I saw from^my time-book that even the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


329 


first-rate pickers did not average eight shillings a week. And 
this was for the best of the season, when there was nothing but 
the weather to keep them from constant work. Once the straw- 
berries were over, many of them could never earn a shilling. 

Whether Cowbrough could have afforded them a higher 
wage I had no means of ascertaining. His strawberries were 
sold to private customers at sixpence per pound for “ tables 
and fourpence for “ jams." Apa3dng price. But then it was 
only a trifling quantity of the fruit that could be disposed of in 
this way. A lot was sent in to the Craigkenneth shops, more 
to the market in the great city, more still to the jam factories. 
For all this he would have a very moderate return. My private 
notion was that it took him a struggle to keep floating. 

The weeks passed, and I came to live entirely in this little 
world of strawberries as if the world without did not exist. 
I never left the fruit-field except of an evening, when I went 
down to the Well for provisions, and on Saturday nights 
when I accompanied Kenneth to town. I read nothing, not 
even a newspaper, heard nothing of noted men or great events, 
the fate of parties or of nations. I talked only of strawberries 
or the things that interested the strawberry- workers. Even 
with Kenneth on Sundays I ceased to speak of the motives 
that had made me choose this life, and listened rather to my 
friend’s speculations about the age of the earth or the destiny 
of the solar system. Stupefied with the wearing, incessant 
toil, I merely worked, ate, slept. It was well for me, I daresay. 
Had I had time for thought, the memories of all that had once 
been mine, of dear friendship and love, would have surged 
over me and I might have perished under the waves. 

But there was something more. I deliberately surrendered 
myself to the stupefying influence. I had an instinct that for a 
season I must give myself up utterly to this new life of labour, 
and not reflect on it, far less speak of it. And so I let my soul 
be sent to sleep, for I knew that an'awakening-hour would come. 

Meanwhile Nature, with whom I now lived so close, brought 
things before me that for all my weariness and preoccupation 
I could not fail to note. At gloaming the kestrel would yelp 
in the wood or the night- jar would churr. At early morn, 
as I drew water from the crystal well, I would be greeted by 
the “ quack " of a heron returning from a night’s poaching 
on some mountain stream. Sometimes, while I sat at my 
evening meal, the squirrel would skip by, pausing to look in 


330 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


at the open door of my hut, and showing not the slightest 
fear of the collie and foxy if they happened to be keeping 
me company. More than once, strolling up the woodside 
with the gun, I was about to aim at what I took for a rabbit, 
but found, on coming up, to be a hedgehog with its muzzle 
buried in the breast of a thrush that Cowbrough must have shot. 

Things there were, too, of human interest, unlooked for 
and not without their comic side. One Sunday afternoon 
Cowbrough visited the field, as he often did. While saunter- 
ing along to meet him I spied in an alley a full punnet which 
the boys had overlooked the day before. There would be a 
wild storm, I knew, if the old fellow saw it. Luckily it was 
quite near. I strolled along the alley and, without looking 
down at the punnet, shoved it in among the strawberries 
with my foot. Then I hastened forward, searcliing the while 
for some excuse to draw Cowbrough away from that part of 
the field. None would come to my slow brain ; on the old 
man stumped, and at the end of the alley his hawk-eye caught 
the white chip though only a corner was visible. 

“ Eh ! he cried, alert on the instant ; and he hobbled up 
with all speed. Then, pointing at the punnet with his stick, 
he went on, “ Look there 1 I don’t blame the boys for not 
seeing that. It’s these damned women. They will persist 
in sticking the punnets into the bed, though I’ve told them a 
thousand times to lay them out on the alleys where the boys 
have a chance to see them.” 

I laughed, and he gave me an angry glance, though the 
cause of my amusement he does not know to this hour. 

But this was nothing to what happened just a week later. 
On the Saturday forenoon we started to the late strawberries — 
the Eltons. The crop was exceedingly heavy, and the big 
squad of pickers filled the punnets much faster than the boys 
and men could clear them away. While we were at our 
busiest, word suddenly came to shift to a break of Presidents : 
enough Eltons were in to fill the order. We had to leave 
instantly ; it was near noon and the women would be off at 
one. I knew there would be some full punnets still l5dng 
among the Eltons, and I settled in my own mind that I should 
lift them in the afternoon. Unfortunately I omitted to mention 
this to Kenneth and it escaped my memory. On the Sunday 
forenoon Joe and Andra, the lads from Sparkwell House, 
came up, and as the foxy was with me at the time we took him 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


331 


to the top of the field to hunt rabbits in the hedge-roots. 
Working along we reached the Eltons, and then for the first 
time the punnets came to mind. I stepped into the bed 
and spied one almost instantly. I slipped it among the plants 
and said nothing, for I was afraid the lads might blab. They 
were too intent on their sport to notice me, and were they 
once past the break of Eltons I was safe. As it happened, 
however, it was near their dinner-hour, and they had to leave 
before we had reached the end of the stretch. They came 
through the Eltons on their way down, and of course could 
not miss the punnets. Two were found within a few yards. 
Seeing concealment was useless, I told the lads to make a 
thorough search: we had been called off suddenly the day before 
and there would be a good many punnets about. We found 
them thick. To the lads it was the rarest fun ; at every 
fresh discovery their mirth grew more uproarious till at last 
they were nearly helpless. I was not quite so merry, for I 
knew that if old Cowbrough appeared — and he might arrive 
at any moment — he would not treat the affair as a joke. Nine 
punnets in all were found ; at sixpence apiece they meant a 
loss to Cowbrough of four-and-six. How to dispose of the 
strawberries ? The lads were ready enough to fill both their 
stomachs and their pockets ; still, they could not stow away 
such a quantity. We cut open their jacket-lining, and I 
poured in the strawberries till they came halfway up their 
back. When all was done we had to bury a punnetful near the 
hut. There was still the fear that the lads on their way home 
might be challenged by the local policeman, who had orders 
to give a look to the field on Sundays. Even if all other 
risks were passed, the lads might blab the fine adventure and 
old Cowbrough might get the story. 

There was an Irishman that Cowbrough employed to drive 
his fruit-van, a fellow about five-and-thirty, clever-handed, 
civil enough, with queer ways though, if the women, with 
whom he was not a favourite, spoke truth. They were 
likely to know, for he came from the Wynds. Once when 
Philip was looking at a rabbit I had shot he suggested that I 
should try the snaring, and told me he could provide the 
snares. I consented to use them on the understanding that 
anything I caught should fail to him ; the gun kept me in all 
I needed. He brought nine, which I set along the woodside 
wherever there was a good run below the wire netting. First 


332 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


thing the next morning I went up to look them. It was full- 
moon, I remember, and ere I had gone far I saw two big 
rabbits making through the netting into the wood. So I 
thought at first ; but as I came nearer they did not decamp, 
though they were jumping briskly, and it then occurred to 
me that they might be prisoners. They were. Only I had 
made the noose of the snares too wide, and the rabbits, instead 
of being caught by the neck and choked, had got through their 
front paws as well as their heads, and were held tightly by 
the middle. A third rabbit, also large, was caught in the same 
way near the top of the wood. Philip was highly pleased 
with my success, and took the rabbits into Craigkenneth 
with his first load. The next night I caught one, and that a 
young thing. Though I had made the nooses smaller, it 
too was caught by the body. After that I did not capture 
one, and yet I knew, for I saw them in my evening strolls, 
that the rabbits came into the field as freely as ever. When 
I had set and looked the snares for a week of nights and morn- 
ings and had taken nothing, I was for giving them back. Philip 
was loth to take them ; he asked me, as a favour, to keep two 
or three at least and set them in runs in the rasp plantation. 
The first morning I had one victim, again a young creature. 
It had been caught in proper fashion and strangled. No 
more were captured though I kept the snares set, and indeed 
left them out even by day. The workers had no occasion 
to be among the rasps at that season, and the keepers on the 
estate were seldom round that way, and were not likely 
to notice anything suspicious though they did pass. After 
some days I grew careless and often left the snares unvisited. 
We were nearly through with the strawberry harvest when a 
change in the weather set in and culminated in a storm of 
wind and rain that lashed my roof the whole night through, 
made the elm-boughs thump on the resounding iron, knocked 
my stove-pipe to pieces, and was like to do the same with 
the hut itself. By morning the wind had fallen, though the 
rain still poured. Of course no women were out, but Kenneth 
arrived about eight o’clock with word from Cowbrough that 
the two of us were to tidy up the fruit-shed and muck out the 
pony’s stall. First, however, we rigged up the stove-pipe, a 
longer task than we had counted on ; then I proposed that we 
should have a turn up the woodside with the gun, for I was 
short of provender. As we moved cautiously on in the thick 


THE STORY OE A PLOUGHBOY 


333 

heavy rain, which prevented us from seeing well or far, 
Kenneth suddenly touched my arm and whispered, 

“ See yon, Jamie ! " 

He was pointing to something in the rasp plantation. As I 
looked I saw a beast making a plunge and then crouching on the 
ground. It took me some seconds to interpret its strange 
movements. 

“ It's a rabbit in one of the girns," I said at last. 

By God ! it's a monster, Jamie,” said my friend. 

We approached, and the nearer we came the more strange 
the animal appeared ; its hide especially, even when due 
allowance was made for the effect of the rain, was darker than 
any rabbit’s I had seen. Kenneth, whose eyes are keener 
than mine, was the first to read the mystery. 

” My God ! it’s a cat, Jamie.” 

A cat it was, a big brindled Tom, one too that I soon recog- 
nised, for I had seen it on the prowl more than once. I had 
been struck by its tameness on our previous encounters. It 
feared neither me nor my gun, indeed paid us little attention. 
I had seen it must be a pet, and concluded it belonged to 
Sparkwell House. Alas ! it looked anything but a home pet 
this morning, its sodden hair glued to its sides after the wild 
night’s exposure. When we made to release it, it spat and 
growled, and we had to keep our distance. I went back to 
the hut with my gun and brought a spade from the tool-shed. 
The creature seemed exhausted by this time, and we thought 
we might handle it with safety. Kenneth held down the wire 
to the ground with the spade so that the cat could not jump 
about, and I managed to release it from the noose. It made 
no attempt to escape, but lay on its side, apparently dying. 
To give it a chance I took off my jacket, rolled the cat inside, 
and with Kenneth’s help, and not without laughter, carried 
it down to the hut, where I had a fire. On unrolhng the bundle 
we found that poor Tom had crawled down one sleeve and 
was stuck fast midway, so that we could get him neither 
down nor up. We knew that if he was near his last gasp before 
he must be dead now from suffocation, if nothing else ; so 
catching the jacket -sleeve by the end, we shook it as if we 
had been emptying a bag of potatoes, though sometimes we 
could scarcely hold it up for laughing. At last Tom dropped 
on to the floor feet foremost, and the next moment he whipped 
out of the door, leaving Kenneth and me to stare at each other 
and then go off in another roar. 


334 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXXIV 

B y the third week of August the strawberries were 
about over ; even before that most of the pickers 
had left. The children were back at school, some 
of the women would soon find work at harvesting, 
others would get into the cloth-mill at Craigkenneth if more 
hands were needed there, and of the rest the greater number 
would be idle till the next summer. About a score of women 
were kept on for the weeding, while the men were sent to 
“ scutch," that is, to go up the alleys, hook in hand, cut the 
strawberry-runners and at the same time shear away part of 
the side-leaves. This last process is supposed to benefit the 
plants, the idea being, I presume, that it strengthens the roots 
and also opens up the bed. The beds that had been planted 
the last spring were left unscutched, for the young plants 
would be needed to make new plantations. The scutching 
was over in about ten days, and then Kenneth and I started 
to delve the alleys, a job that was likely to keep us busy all 
winter. It was on a Monday that we began. Philip should 
have been with us, but poor Philip was in disgrace. He had 
gone on the spree on the Saturday night, had wandered out 
from Craigkenneth on the Sunday very drunk, and had made 
a disturbance at Cowbrough’s house. When he appeared on 
the Monday morning to make a start along with us, Cowbrough 
ordered him off the ground. The women, who had an ill word 
of Philip, declared he would have revenge one way or another ; 
indeed, Macdermott, who believed him capable of all enormities 
and who had a leaning to the marvellous at any rate, “ wouldn’t 
be surprised if he burnt owld Cowbrough’s house about his 
ears." It was no very enviable job that Philip had lost. 
The alleys we were to delve were trodden as hard as a turnpike 
road. More than that ; they were covered half a foot deep 
with the weeds that the women were taking out of the beds, 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


335 


and we had to delve these weeds in and cover them so deeply 
that not a green blade could be seen. No very lucrative job, 
either. Cowbrough, following his usual practice, stopped 
the system of day’s-wages when the delving began, and put 
us on piece-work. The pay was to be twenty-five shillings 
per acre, the strawberry-beds going into the measurement. 
When telling me these arrangements Cowbrough said that a 
good delver could do an acre in a week. Kenneth shook 
his head when I mentioned this. 

“ If a body got at it constantly, Jamie, it’s hard to say 
what he micht dae ; but there’s a lot o’ broken time wi’ rain 
and frost. I’ve never averaged aboon sixteen shillings a week, 
and that’s wi’ workin’ every hour that wark was possible.” 

Kenneth and I arranged that instead of working on different 
parts of the field we should take adjoining alleys on the same 
break. That would let us be together. We started. Kenneth, 
stronger than I and — what was more — accustomed to the work, 
moved up the alley at a rate that made me despair. He 
looked, too, as if he were not pushing himself. I was fairly 
strong, as active as most young fellows, and the spade was 
quite familiar to my hand. But this was not the fine free soil 
of Lowis gardens. I struggled like a slave and still Kenneth 
was covering two yards for my one. Though it was September 
the day was as hot as midsummer ; the sweat poured down 
me in a stream. When we knocked off for the day I could 
scarcely drag myself over to the hut. My supper, which I 
would almost have wanted rather than have the trouble of 
making, was no sooner over than I threw myself down, and 
in a moment I was sleeping like the dead. 

I had slept long, till midnight at least — so I thought — when 
I was wakened suddenly ; something had disturbed me. Ere 
I had a second to collect my senses, there was a tremendous 
hammering on the door, and someone in a rough voice and 
Irish accent threatened to smash in my sanguinary head if 
I did not open at once. The voice, the accent, could only 
belong to Philip. He was not alone ; I could hear others 
speaking to him in a whisper, and one of these, also an Irish- 
man, joined in the threats and added the most frightful 
curses. The door of my hut, as I have mentioned already, 
was not locked, only fastened inside with a string to keep it 
from blowing open ; my assailants were trying to drive it in ; 
had they known it opened outwards, they could have pulled 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


336 

it to them with the utmost ease. My behaviour can only be 
understood and excused if one remembers that I was sud- 
denly and roughly wakened out of a heavy sleep, and recog- 
nised in my leading assailant the drunken desperate Irishman 
of whom I had heard such evil tales. I had not a moment 
to find my wits ; I was not myself ; I was in an excited daze. 

“ Yes,” I cried, as soon as I was able to say anything, "I’ll 
let you in.” 

Even as I spoke I had slid out of bed and groped to the 
corner where stood the gun. Some loose cartridges always 
lay on the sill of the wicket beside it ; I found them at once 
and slipped in a couple. Then I stood holding the muzzle 
close to the inside of the door, my finger on the trigger and 
ready to pull the moment the door was forced. So the situa- 
tion remained for some minutes, the Irishmen smashing on the 
door with their fists, uttering the most blood-curdling threats 
and occasionally breaking off to confer in whispers, while I 
stood prepared for the worst, ordering them at times to clear 
out, but for the most part waiting the issue in silence. The 
hut was in deep darkness, for though, as I afterwards found, 
the moon was half-full, its rays could not pierce my wooden 
walls, and I had not struck a light for fear of making myself 
a target for missiles. At last the excitement mastered me ; 
after some fearful threats from my besiegers I shouted out 
as wildly, " Yes, I’ll open the door and I’ll put some lead 
into you with this gun,” and with my left hand I tore at the 
string that held the door. My accent must have taught them 
I was desperate ; their feet were heard scampering off at 
their hardest. The moment the door was unfastened I dashed 
it open and strode out into the moonlight in my nightshirt, 
gun ready, defying the world. Nobody accepted the challenge ; 
my assailants, to judge from the sound of their voices, were 
down the road. After standing some minutes I went into the 
hut and, heedless of danger now, I struck a match to see the 
time. It was only nine o’clock. So dumbfounded was I 
that I thought the alarm must have stopped. No ; it was 
ticking quite regularly. I pulled out my watch from under 
my pillow. The same story : a few minutes past nine ; and 
I had taken for granted it was midnight. I sat down on the 
crate and reflected. Was it possible that I had made a fright- 
ful blunder ? After a little I put on some clothes and went 
out, this time without the gun. My late assailants were 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


337 


returning, as I could tell from the voices, and were again in- 
side the field, though they seemed to be moving gingerly and 
making frequent halts. The voices had lost the brogue and 
sounded familiar. This confirmed the suspicion that had 
flashed on me, and I called : 

“ Is that you, Joe ? 

There was no answer. 

“ Come on, man,” I shouted. 

Then a voice cried, " Will ye no shoot us ? ” 

I reassured them and they moved forward, though warily. 
But one of the company was less timid : a small white figure 
detached itself from the group and was soon at my side. It 
was the foxy. Our friendly meeting seemed to give con- 
fidence to the others ; they came on with bolder tread, and 
I recognised them for Joe and Andra. Hearty was our 
greeting, loud and sincere were my apologies. It seemed they 
had been investing in a new pack of cards, and had come up 
after eight — quite a common hour with them and not an un- 
seasonable one — to handsel them with me at Catch-the-ten ; 
finding me asleep, they had started acting the Irishman and 
burglar, merely in youthful exuberance, with no thought of 
Philip, with no suspicion that I should be deceived. I in 
turn told of my mistake and accounted for it, but I don’t 
think they quite accepted, perhaps I should rather say com- 
prehended, the story, nor ^d they realise, I feel sure, how 
near they had been to death. From the chance words they 
dropped to myself and the account of the affair they gave 
Kenneth, I conclude they had the impression that I had been 
annoyed at having my sleep disturbed, and had wanted to 
give them a fright and make them decamp. So hard is it 
to put oneself in another’s skin. 

All’s well that ends well. Blessed was my escape ; yet 
often since have I shuddered as I thought of what would 
inevitably have been if those poor lads, instead of beating 
on my door, had tugged it open. Two lives blotted out, my 
own ruined. Instead, I have to thank the occurrence for one 
of the most joyous changes of my life. The first time Cow- 
brough was up I asked him to take the gun away. As the 
strawberries were past, there was no need to shoot, or even 
shoot at, the birds, and I suppose he would think I had tired 
of rabbit dinners. Up to this the ^n had kept me in flesh- 
meat, and if I was to continue the diet I should have to resort 

z 


338 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


to the butcher’s. A journey down to the Well after a hard day 
at the spade, especially if I had no other errand, was not en- 
ticing ; it was put off night after night, and I contented 
myself with such viands as oatmeal porridge, potatoes, bread, 
tea, and dairy produce. The fare agreed with me ; anything 
would have agreed with me in that open-air life ; and ere the 
end of the week the question had risen, why not continue it, 
or try to, at least ? I have not spent a penny on butcher-meat 
since. My health has certainly been as good under the new 
fare, even though, as time went on, I discarded butter, cheese, 
eggs, and all animal products. But that is not the important 
thing. My outlook on Nature was changed. Now, as I 
wandered up the woodside in the gloaming, the rabbits that 
whidded off at my approach were no longer my enemies or 
my prey : they were my friends, for whom I cherished a pro- 
tective tenderness. So of all creatures wild or domestic : they 
became to me what the birds had always been. A stranger 
in a new land who thinks himself girt with foes and suddenly 
discovers in them friends and kin, such was I. As with other 
changes in my inward life, the cause was remote and seem- 
ingly accidental. Perhaps the truth is that the change was 
bound to come, though but for that night’s adventure it might 
not have come so soon. At any rate, the circumstances of my 
life, the movements of my thought, must have been prepar- 
ing me for it, and when the occasion came it found me ready. 

Since then I have gone lengths in this direction that I never 
contemplated. As I have mentioned, I gave up using animal 
products of any kind. I came in time to regard all life as 
akin to my own, and I have let the thought guide me even 
when it seemed to threaten my interests. In digging the 
ground, for instance, I stay the spade rather than slice a worm ; 
vermin like rats and mice, destructive as I have proved them 
to be, I never kill ; anything that would entice them I keep 
out of their way or fence securely, and, above all, I find that 
a place which is clean and free from rubbish is seldom infested. 
So that in treating the lower creation considerately I have 
found a treasure by the way : I have learned to prize and 
practise thrift and cleanliness. In one matter — in dealing 
with the larvae that prey on my garden crops — I lag behind 
my knowledge. Not only do I endeavour by the use of 
soot, salt, lime, and the like to make the crops and even the 
soil distasteful to them (for that I take no shame) ; but J delve 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


339 


in those chemical fumigants that are warranted to be sure death 
to leather- jackets, chafers, and that despair of the horticulturist, 
the wire-worm. Fortunately, I acknowledge my sin and make 
no attempt to justify it ; I live in hope that I shall yet have 
courage, whatever be the cost, to follow the good I approve. 

Ere many days I could keep up with Kenneth at the delving* 
He was as pleased as I, for now we could work side by side, 
talking while we worked. We had a good deal of broken 
time, however, owing to rain, and our earnings were not high. 
On days when nothing could be done outside I sometimes 
went down to Kenneth’s and got his old mother, who was an 
expert at knitting, to give me lessons, so that I might have 
some useful employment for indoors. If rain caught us at 
the delving, Kenneth and I retired to my hut till it should fair, 
and, as the few women who still remained in Cowbrough’s 
service could not weed if the ground or the plants were 
drenched, we had the field at such times to ourselves. It was 
on one of those occasions, while we were sitting in the hut 
early of an afternoon, talking of whatever arose, that 
Kenneth rather upset me with the question, 

“ Had ye never a lass, Jamie ? ” 

“ I — I haven’t one now, anyway,” I managed to answer. 

My hesitancy should have made him suspicious ; only it 
was soon evident that he had put the question for the sake of 
introducing his own love-affairs. 

“ I had when I was like you, Jamie.” 

“ It strikes me you’ve a good many yet, Kenneth,” I said, 
laughing. 

“ Ay, but I had a richt lass, ane that I wad fain hae mairret.” 

“ Why didn’t you ? ” 

“ My mither wadna let me, Jamie.” 

I could not help smiling. This great powerful man of about 
fifty spoke as if he were still a little boy at his mother’s foot. 

“ My mither’s been jealous o’ me a’ my life,” he went on ; “she 
wad get fair past hersel’ if she thocht I was lookin’ at a lassie.” 

“ Was she afraid of losing your pay ? ” 

“ No, Jamie ; it wasna that awa’. My faither was livin' 
then and was weel enough aff ; he managed the hame farm up 
at Gartloch there. No ; it was just jealousy, what ye wad ca’ 
jealousy, Jamie ; she couldna bear that ony ither woman 
should be first wi’ me. She’s just the same yet. And that’s 
ane o’ the reasons that she’s sae fond o’ you, Jamie : she thinks 


340 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


ye keep me frae the hizzies on the Saturday nichts. She’s 
waur at the hizzies than the drink.” 

It is true that Kenneth kept by me pretty loyally on those 
town visits. But he did not tell his mother, and he had 
cautioned me not to tell her, that he made up for this by 
taking a run in to the Wynds of a Sunday afternoon when he 
was supposed to be in my hut. 

” And do you think the girl would have married you, Ken- 
neth?” I asked for I saw he wanted to go on with his confidences. 

” Ay, Jamie ; she.gied me her promise, and she seemed as 
fond o’ me as I was o’ her.” 

” How did your mother manage to break it off ? ” 

” Man, Jamie, she just kept at me constantly, never gied 
me a minute’s rest, made my life a misery if she thocht I 
had been wi’ Maggie. And she wad try everything she could 
to keep me awa’ frae her ; watched me like a thief. Maggie 
kent that, and she saw it wad never dae. I saw that mysel’, 
and we just agreed to let the thing drap.” 

We were both silent a while, each busy with his own 
thoughts. Then Kenneth resumed in a thoughtful tone, 

” I whiles think it wad ha’ been better for me if I had gotten 
her. What do you think, Jamie ? ” 

” Hard to tell, Kenneth ; in fact, it’s impossible to teU. 
We know what has been, but we don’t know what might have 
been. The pair of you might have lived very unhappily 
together ; plenty of married folks do.” 

” I dinna think we’d ha’ dune badly thegither, Jamie. She 
had a guid deal o’ sense, what ye wad ca’ soond common- 
sense, Jamie, and she’s made a guid wife to the man she got.” 

” Oh 1 she married ? ” 

” Ay, Jamie ; she mairret a farmer up by Kilmunnock, 
Garrick o’ Peel.” 

” I know the man. I often came across him in Stevenson’s. 
He’s in a big way.” 

” Ay ; it was Maggie made a man o’ him. She gaed to 
keep his hoose and he sune mairret her, and he’s thriven every 
day since syne. She was the sort to push a man on. She 
micht ha’ dune the same for me, Jamie.” 

There was another silence ; then Kenneth said, 

” I’m no a success, Jamie. Naebody wad ca’ me a success.” 

” It all depends on what one means by that, Kenneth. I 
suppose nobody would call me a success either.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


341 


“ No ; but then, Jamie, you have the best o’ your life afore 
ye, and the best o’ mine’s past. No, I havena been a success ; 
onything but that. I’m just a slave ; I’m what ye wad ca’ 
a slave, wadn’t ye, Jamie ? ” 

“ We all are, Kenneth ; slaves to our employers, the people 
that have the money.” 

” Ay, but I’ve nae independence, Jamie. Of coorse, I 
could leave auld Cowbrough ; but I dinna like the idea o’ 
gaun among strange folk askin’ wark. I have a backwardness 
aboot me. And that mak’s me hing on here and stand a’ 
Cowbrough’s roarin’ and cursin’. Ay, Jamie, I’m just Cow- 
brough’s slave.” 

It was true, yet I could not find it in my heart to say so. 
To divert my friend’s thoughts a little I asked, 

” Have you a weakness for her yet, Kenneth ? ” 

“ No very bad, Jamie ; just a kin’ o’ interest, what ye wad 
ca’ an interest, Jamie. I think a man aye has that for the 
lass he didna get.” 

” Perhaps you’re right, Kenneth. And the lass — will 
Maggie still have an interest in you ? ” 

” No ; it’s quite different wi’ her, Jamie. She has a grown- 
up family, and a mither gets ta’en up wi’ her family ; they 
put a’ ither folk oot o’ her held. It’s just like my mither 
bein’ ta’en up wi’ me. My mither ’ll never think ’o the lads 
she used to gang wi’ when she was a lassie. And she wad hae 
lads in plenty, for she wad be a gey braw lass ; in fact, she was a 
braw woman since I mind her, though she’s auld and dune noo.’ 

At Kenneth’s words the Time-curtains seemed to dissolve. 
I looked into a vanished world, a world of two generations 
ago, and saw a fresh-cheeked, light-footed maid of twenty 
laughing, singing the livelong day in the thoughtless joy of 
youth, jesting, trysting with brave young wooers, now old 
and bent like the old woman down the brae, or mayhap laid 
to rest long since in the green kirkyard. What changes in 
the world ; what changes in that one poor life since those 
sunny days and sweet gloamings of sixty years ago ! Kenneth 
must have had some such fancy as well, for when I said, 

” That’s ' Lang Syne,’ Kenneth,” he responded, 

“ Ay, Jamie ; it’s a’ by like a dream. And oor turn ’ll 
come some day ; we’ll pass awa’ and be as if we had never 
been. We’re just like the weeds oot there that we delve into 
the grund. They live for a year and we live for fifty or sixty. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


342 

or it may be eighty year ; that’s a’ the difference ; it comes 
to the same in the end.” 

This was a favourite thought with Kenneth, though one 
that I could not altogether make my own. I did not begin 
an argument, however. The rain that had kept us prisoner 
in the hut was nearly over and the sky had brightened. With 
one impulse we rose and sallied forth to resume our toil. 
Still, I had the feeling that Kenneth had not been doing himself 
justice, and, anxious to restore him to a due place in his own 
esteem, I remarked, as we walked up the field, 

“You say, Kenneth, that you’re not a success, that you’re 
just a slave. That’s maybe true. Well, suppose things had 
fallen out differently ; suppose you had married Maggie and 
had been pushed on till you became a big farmer ; what would 
that mean ? It means that you would have a lot of other 
people slaves to you, and would be driving them on so as to 
get profit out of them. You would rather be a slave than a 
slave-driver or a slave-owner. You admit that, Kenneth ? ” 

“ Ay, Jamie ; I can honestly say that. Though the 
proper thing would be to be neither o’ them.” 

“ I admit that, Kenneth ; though it’s a very rare person 
who is in that happy position. And if one is forced to choose, 
as you and I are, it’s better to have other people taking 
advantage of us and making profit out of our labour than to be 
using them for our gain. It’s better to suffer wrong than to 
do wrong. Then, as for the life you’ve spent, look at it this 
way, Kenneth. You have worked at a most useful occupation, 
raising wholesome, natural food for people. Indeed, you see 
that I gave up such a position as you were inclined to think 
highly of in order to do the same work as yourself. If I were 
you, Kenneth, if I had been doing such useful work as long 
as you, I should think no small potatoes of myself.” 

“ That’s ae way to look at it, Jamie,” my friend admitted, 
and his tone was less pensive. 

By this we had climbed the knoll. The rain had passed, all 
but a few glistening drops, and the sun shone in the fresh blue. 
Ere I struck my spade into the gravelly soil, I waved my 
hand toward the retreating clouds in the north, and spouted, 
‘ ' My heart leaps up when I behold 
A rainbow in the sky ; 

So was it when my life began, 

So is it now I am a man. 

Kenneth gave his head a shake, but he smiled. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


343 


CHAPTER XXXV 

B roken time meant broken pay. This mattered 
little to me, my running expenses were so light. As 
a set-off the wet spells did me a double good : they 
rested me, they gave me time to think. In my four 
months’ stay among the strawberries I had tried the different 
kinds of work, and had learned a good deal about the workers 
and their employer. Alone and at leisure I reflected on all 
this. Of much else, too, I thought, of my ploughboy hfe, of 
my later career as factor. While I glanced over the past, the 
main incidents and characters that had once seemed detached 
and accidental fell into their places as in a picture, till my 
mind’s eye could command and comprehend the whole. To 
see this was not enough ; soon the desire rose to tell what I 
saw. Let me say a word about this. 

When I left the factor’s office and entered on what I felt 
to be the true life, I had not one thought of becoming a pro- 
pagandist. I made the change to satisfy my own conscience, 
to give free course to my true nature ; I made it, in a word, 
because I couldn’t help it. Even when I had time for reflec- 
tion in my hillside solitude, weeks went by ere I dreamt of 
sharing my thoughts with the public. If I can rightly recall 
the events of my inner history, the impulse came to me first 
on a Saturday night when Kenneth and I were standing at 
Craigkenneth Steeple. We had been up Guild Street as far 
as the Wynds, hardly forcing our way through the dense 
rough crowd, and as we found ourselves again at the Steeple 
I was thinking of all we had seen and heard and of all that 
was around us now. The throng of workers from country 
and town, the street-preacher, street-minstrel, street-hawker 
striving to catch their notice and their pence, the group of 
young ploughmen close to us, a mulatto giant with a rich 
voice and fluent tongue lauding his drugs as cures for every 
ail — here was matter for thought. 


344 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Look at all these folks, Kenneth," I said. “ They are 
the most important people in the world, the ones that are 
doing real work, useful work, the ones that, if they only saw 
the way, could make a new world of it. And look at the 
characters that are appealing to them ; most of them are 
tr3dng to amuse them, to distract them, to keep them from 
thinking ; and the ones that profess to be wanting them to 
think, hke that Salvation Army preacher, are doing worse than 
all the rest, for they’re trying to stuff them with lies and super- 
stitions that any reasonable mind must reject with loathing." 

" Ye’re quite richt, Jamie," Kenneth assented. 

" Sheep without a shepherd, Kenneth," I went on. They 
hear all sorts of lies, all sorts of distractions, but one word of 
truth is never spoken to them, not one." 

" No a single word, Jamie," said my friend. 

" Then don’t you think, Kenneth," I asked, uttering the 
thought that had been born not a second before, " that it’s 
the duty of one who knows the way to show them it ? ’’ 

Kenneth gave me one of his sidelong looks, and there was 
a hint of a smile on his face. The glance told that he was not 
without curiosity to hear how I might deliver my message, 
but what he said was, 

"It’s no worth while, Jamie. What odds will ’t mak’ a 
hunder years efter this ? ’’ 

I could not have addressed the crowd even if I had had the 
words to speak and courage to speak them ; the black doctor 
was doing such business, his humour, his eloquence were so 
acceptable, that he was not likely to quit the stance till his 
whole stock was cleared. 

The next Saturday night was wet and the crowds, instead 
of being on the street, were in the public-house. I was re- 
lieved ; it was another good excuse for silence. The follow- 
ing Saturday a cheap- jack, selling watches and trinkets, was 
at the Steeple as we came up. Again I had the feeling of relief ; 
I could hold my tongue without self-reproach. Kenneth and 
I had our usual stroll into the Wynd region and on our way 
back Kenneth halted to speak with some country acquaint- 
ances I did not know. He had not overtaken me by the time 
I reached the foot of Guild Street. As I neared the Steeple 
my heart began thumping : the cheap- jack had stopped. 

He had stopped, though he was still at the place, his stand 
and his brown portmanteau beside him. The bag was shut. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


345 


After some hesitation I strolled over, though I did not venture 
to address him at once. He was a middle-aged, middle-sized 
man, spare and smart-looking, with yellowish-brown hair, a 
hook-nose, and good features generally. His attire — what 
of it I remarked at least, the round felt hat and the long 
brown great-coat — was old and shabby. After standing a 
minute or two I stepped a little closer and asked if he was 
finished for the night. 

"No, I am not,” he rephed with an English accent, speaking 
and looking sharply and, as I thought, aggressively. 

I said it was all right ; I had thought of speaking a little, 
but wasn’t particular. 

My civil tone had soothed him, or perhaps he did not need 
soothing. He explained that he had merely knocked off for 
a little to let a new crowd gather. Meantime he was going 
over the way for a drink, and he nodded towards the Grapes. 

" Come along,” he said. 

I thanked him but declined. 

" No ? Well, take a quarter of an hour. I’ll give you that 
time.” 

"Oh, never mind,” I said. "Some other night will do as well.” 

" Atheist ? ” 

" Well, not exactly. At least it’s not about that I meant 
to speak ; it was rather to working-people on social questions.” 

" There’s nothing like it,” said the man, though what he 
meant I don’t know to this day, and have often wished to 
know. " Go ahead, then,” he continued. " Take twenty 
minutes, take half an hour, if you like. I’ll get the benefit 
of the crowd when you’ve done, and my things ’ll be safe 
beside you when I’m over the way.” 

He hung on a little, evidently curious to hear my message ; 
but I had not courage to open my mouth, and when he left 
me by myself I shrank back beneath the Steeple. Yet it 
was a pity ; here was a chance made for me, here was I en- 
couraged to take it. When might I have another ? I stepped 
out into the street. Then I shrank back once more, but ere 
I was clear of the causey an impulse took me, and I cried, 
ay, shouted : 

" Working-men and Working- women ! I want to speak 
to you about the state we are in.” 

The cry had the effect of the fairy wand at a pantomime. 
The crowds passing on the pavements were struck motionless, 


346 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


the shifting throng on the street became as stone figures ; 
every face was turned to the spot beneath the Steeple. I 
waited a little in hope that the listeners would approach ; 
the only ones who did were some children of the street -Arab 
sort. Once I had heard my own voice I was quite collected, 
and it was at a lower pitch, almost indeed in a conversational 
tone, that I resumed : 

“ It is we working-people that do everything that is useful 
in the world. Some of us work in the country fields, raising 
corn, potatoes, and other food. Others build houses, make 
streets and roads, dig out iron and coal. The women among 
us do things that are quite as necessary. They are employed 
in factories, attending to the machines that spin and weave 
cloth, or in warehouses making up the cloth into dresses, or 
in private houses doing the duties of domestic servants. All 
the things that are needed to support life — food, houses, 
clothes, fuel — are turned out by our hands. If we were to 
stop working, the human race would soon come to an end.” 

By this there was a fair half-circle about me, made up mostly 
of young fellows belonging to the town. The ploughmen, all 
but one or two, were slower to move ; they kept to their 
accustomed spot, where, however, my voice could easily reach 

them. Something more than curiosity, a certain expectant 
interest, was in most of the faces before me, and the sight 
strengthened my confidence and self-possession. 

” Now,” I went on, ” here comes the strange thing. The 
things we turn out don’t belong to us ; they belong to people 
who never worked at them at all. The ploughman raises 
corn and potatoes, but the corn and potatoes don’t belong to 
the ploughman ; they belong to the farmer, who only watches 
him and swears at him ” (“ Good, my son ! ” from a tall tipsy 
ploughman whose face was familiar) ; ” and a big part of the 
value of the corn and potatoes has to be given to a laird who 
hasn’t even the trouble of watching and swearing. The mason 
and the joiner put up houses, but those houses are to belong 
to rich people who never handled a mell or a saw in their 
life.” (‘ ‘ Did you ever work in your life ? ” a young tradesman- 
like fellow called out viciously. ” He works a damned sicht 
harder than you,” retorted a countryman with a very red 
face. ” What does he work at ? ” the first speaker demanded. 
” He’s wi’ Cowbrough o’ the Well.” ” Ye’re a liar, 

then, ” a third voice broke in, ” for he’s a factor at Lowis.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


347 


After waiting till the wrangle had somewhat quietened I 
went on.) “ Miners dig out coal and iron, railwaymen carry 
on the work of railways, for the benefit of shareholders who 
not only don’t work, but haven’t even a notion of how the 
work is done. Girls spin and weave cloth which belongs to 
the factory-owner ; other girls make it up into dresses which 
the warehouseman sells for his profit. Putting the whole 
thing in one word, I would say this : our food, our clothes, 
our houses, our coal and iron, come, first or last, from the 
land ; well, the land, with all that's on it or in it, belongs not 
to us, the working-people, but to a handful of people who do 
no work at all.” 

My hearers were now ranged, if the word can be used of 
such an unruly throng, four and five deep, and the half-moon 
had rounded to a somewhat irregular circle. There would be 
at least two hundred persons gathered round me ; the outside 
groups on the pavements and the causey would contain 
as many more. The audience, too, seemed, for the most part 
sympathetic. 

” And what,” I continued, ” do we get for the work we do ? 
The rich people for whom we do the work pay us wages, and the 
wages are usually just enough to keep us fit for working more.” 

Here a man with a fresh face and grey hair came forward 
to me, walking very unsteadily. ” Look here, chappie,” he 
said, taking me by the front of the jacket, ” I want to ask you 
a question.” With most of the audience I looked expectant, 
and amid comparative stillness he asked, ” C-c-can you grow 
chrysanthemums ? ” The query and the shout of laughter 
it called forth disconcerted me somewhat. However, two 
young fellows got hold of the old jobbing-gardener, for so 
my heckler proved to be, and drew him back from me in spite 
of his serious and oft-repeated protest that he ” was just askin’ 
a question.” I started again : 

” Now, some people give you arguments in support of this 
arrangement and other people give you arguments against it. 
Some tell us that this arrangement, or an arrangement like 
it, has been from the beginning ; others say that on the whole 
it is a good arrangement, others again that while it may have 
some faults it’s better than any other that has ever been pro- 
posed. On the other side, there are people who deny all that, 
and who bring fine arguments against it. I want you to-night 
to put all those arguments on one side or the other out of your 


348 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


mind, and to ask yourselves just one question. We are born 
into this world, and when we are old enough to look at things 
for ourselves we find that all the land about us, with every- 
thing that's in it and on it, belongs to a handful of people in 
every way like ourselves, and that we, who are thousands to 
their one, haven’t a foot of ground to live on, and can only 
live because those few people find it convenient for themselves 
to allow us. Now, here’s the question I want you to ask 
yourselves : Is that natural ? is that fair ? is that right ? ” 

There was a confused shout for reply, the “ No’s ” greatly 
predominating, and when the noise subsided the tall, red-faced 
ploughman declared, as if communing with himself, “ Damn 
the bit ! ” I gave the audience time to settle, then continued : 

“ We're pretty well agreed, then, that there’s no sense or 
fairness in the present way of doing. The sensible thing, the 
fair thing, would be that the land shall belong not to a hand- 
ful of lairds but to the whole people, and that when we work 
it shall be for ourselves and not for a few masters. (“ How 
can we do without masters ? ” demanded the young trades- 
man snappishly. “ Keep yer mooth shut an’ yer ears open, 
an’ ye’U mebbe hear,” a ploughman retorted amid laughter.) 
” The question now is ” (” Wull ye hae a drink ? ” and roars 
of laughter) — “ the question is ” (” Beer or whisky ? ” and 
more laughter) — ” the question is, how can the change be 
brought about ? Most people up till now have thought, if 
they thought about the question at all, that the change would 
be brought about by Parliament. Members of Parliament 
would abolish the old laws and make new laws for giving justice 
to us working-people. Till a few years ago those Members 
of Parliament belonged to one or other of two parties, the 
Liberals and the Conservatives, and both those parties pro- 
fessed to be concerned for our good. And both of them have 
passed laws that seemed likely to improve our condition. 
Women and children employed in factories and workshops 
must have a certain amount of space for each to breathe 
in, and must not be kept at work for more than so many 
hours at a stretch ; dangerous machinery must be fenced in ; 
workers who meet with accidents in the course of their em- 
ployment are entitled to compensation from their employers. 
But where is the Liberal, where is the Conservative, who has 
ever proposed the one thing we saw was necessary, namely, 
that the land shall be free to all ? If you suggested such a 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


349 


thing to them, they would take you for a madman. It’s 
evident, then, that we need never expect this from the Liberals 
or the Conservatives.” 

Here the young tradesman demanded, ‘‘ Are you a Social- 
ist ? ” and when I went on without noticing the interruption 
he insisted, ” Answer the question ; answer the question if 
you’re not frightened.” I knew by instinct, however, that 
it was easier to be diverted from the straight road than to 
find the way back, and in spite of his challenge and jeers I 
held on : 

“ We working people began to suspect this a while ago and 
to try another plan for bringing about the change. The men 
who followed one trade, we’ll say engineering, said, ‘ Let us 
all unite in one body and we’ll be so strong that we'll can lay 
our own terms on the masters.” And the engineers, at hast 
a great many of them, did band themselves together, paid in 
subscriptions, appointed agents, and when the men at one 
centre had a dispute with their employer their mates all over 
the country supported them. The same thing was done in 
other trades. Each trade had its Union. And again I admit 
that these Unions may have helped the working-people, at 
least for a time. An employer may have been less ready to 
quarrel with his men when he knew that he would really have 
to fight the whole trade. But we see pretty clearly now that 
trade-unionism is done.” (“ Ye’re a liar. It’s stronger than 
ever it was.”) “ For one thing ” (” What pay d’ye get for 
this ? ”) — ” for one thing ” (” For one thing, you’re a damned 
blether ”) — “ for one thing, the class of workers that I con- 
sider most important, that is, the ploughmen and country 
labourers generally, have no Union.” (“That’s far ye’re 
wrang ; they have ane in Aberdeen.”) “ For another thing, 
the masters have copied the men and have formed Masters’ 
Unions, and now when the men at one centre have a dispute 
it’s not their own employer, it’s all the employers in the same 
line they have to face. And as the masters have a thousand 
pounds for every ten pounds that’s in the Trade Union funds, 
and for every day that the men could hold out could afford 
to hold out a month, it’s clear that the men are beaten before 
they begin to fight.” 

Some of my hearers expressed dissent pretty emphatically. 
I did not attend to them, however. I had something else to 
occupy me. My friend, the cheap-jack, who had been stand- 


350 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


ing on the outside of the ring for some minutes, came round 
below the Steeple and took his place almost at my side. I 
concluded he wished his turn, and I told him I would stop 
whenever he liked. He made me an impatient gesture to go 
on, and I found he had merely shifted his ground in order 
to watch over his portmanteau, which some youngsters had 
evinced a desire to explore. 

“ We working-people,” I continued, ” have again seen this, 
and within the last few years we have started another plan. 
We have said to ourselves, ‘ The way to get the laws altered 
would be to send up to Parliament men of our own class and 
make them promise to bring about the great change.' And 
so there has come into existence a third political party, 
distinct from Liberals and Conservatives, the Labour party. 
The members of this party are nearly half a hundred in Parlia- 
ment, they have mostly been workmen themselves at some 
time in their life, and they do profess to have the aim we all 
have, namely, to put the land and the wealth of the country 
in the people’s hands. And again I admit that they may have 
done something, by pushing on the Liberals and the Con- 
servatives, to relieve working-people. For instance, some 
changes, I don’t know what, have been made with regard to 
compensation for accidents since they appeared in the House 
of Commons. But is it likely that the great change which 
we want, and which they profess to want, will ever be brought 
about by their means ? There are one or two things I want 
to say about this. 

“ In the first place, what do we know about these men ? 
Here is a Labour candidate who comes forward ” 

At this point the old jobbing-gardener, whom I had lost 
sight of, did come forward, attracted perhaps by my words 
and the wave of the hand that accompanied them. He was 
certainly no soberer than he had been the first time. His 
entrance, made so pat, was greeted with a great roar. He 
staggered forward, holding out his hand, but as he came in 
front of me his attention was taken by the cheap-jack at my 
side. Suddenly he stopped. Keeping his eye fixed on the 
man and pointing to the brown portmanteau, he asked with 
all solemnity, “ I say, Hawkie, d-d-do you sell Pears’ soap ? ” 
Uproarious merriment ; then the old fellow was again laid 
hold of and drawn into the crowd, in spite of the oft-repeated 
plea that he was “ just askin’ a question.” When the audience 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


351 

was composed enough to listen, and that was not for some 
minutes, I tried again : 

“ I was asking, what do we know about these Labour 
members ? A Labour candidate comes forward, well say, 
for this constituency : what do we know about him ? We 
have been told that he was once a working-man, a railway- 
man, perhaps ; but do we know him personally ? Most of 
us never saw him before. How can we tell if he is a truthful, 
sincere man, or is only using us to advance himself ? It is 
difficult to tell that even of people that we have lived among 
for years ; how can we tell it of a man we know nothing about, 
except that he can make a fine speech ? You may reply that 
it's the same with the Liberal and Conservative candidates ; 
we don’t, as a rule, know any more about them and can’t tell, 
therefore, whether they are genuine or not. Very true. You 
may go further and say it would be the same with anybody 
who came forward to ask our vote ; he couldn’t be thoroughly 
known to, say, five thousand voters. True again. And the 
lesson from that would seem to be that we can never be sure 
of anybody who wants us to send him to Parliament as our 
representative, and that it’s not by Parliament, it’s not by 
what we call representative government at all, that we’ll 
ever get what we want.” (“ What way have we a vote, 
then ? ” ” Awa’ and brush yer boots ! ” and laughter.) 

“ And here is strong support for the doubts we may enter- 
tain about those Labour members. The Labour party is 
divided into a lot of sections, S.D.F., I.L.P., S.L.P., and so 
on half through the alphabet, and you have the members 
of one section blackguarding the members of all the rest, and 
even the members of the same section blackguarding one 
another. Well, they ought to know each other fairly well, 
better than we can know them, and if they make each other 
out to be rogues and liars and traitors, what are we, who don’t 
know them, to think ? ” 

” What did the Prime Minister say about the Labour 
members ? ” asked a smartly dressed youth, a clerk perhaps. 
“ Didn’t he say they were a credit to the House ? ” 

” He won’t answer you ; he knows better,” the young 
tradesman said in a spiteful tone, and he gave a laugh of 
mingled contempt and vexation when I justified his pre- 
diction. 

But there is something more,” I resumed. “ These 


352 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Labour members say, ‘ Once we are in a majority in Parlia- 
ment, we’ll arrange everything for the good of you workers ; 
we’ll organise you and direct you and rule you properly.* 
But why any organisers or directors or rulers ? If we have 
land and freedom to work it, we can raise our own food, we 
can build workshops, make tools, turn out everything that’s 
needed to keep us alive and in comfort. We can work 
together, helping each other when there’s occasion. Why get 
rid of our present rulers only to put a new set in their place ? 
Why have rulers at all ? ” 

The young tradesman, glancing round the throng, asked, 
“ How could we do with no rulers ? ” and added in a tone of 
despair, “ Did you ever hear such rubbish ? ” A stout and 
fiery-faced man, a lorryman, as I found later, turned on him 
with, “ We see plenty o’ rubbish onyway when we see you ; ” 
and the laugh that followed showed that the prevailing sym- 
pathy was not with my critic. 

“ It seems, then,” I proceeded, ” that, if we’re ever to have 
the chance of living as free men and women, it won’t be from 
any poHtical party that we’ll get it, whether it calls itself 
the Liberal, the Conservative or the Labour party.” (” What 
other party is there ? ” asked the young clerk.) ” It won’t 
be from parties or governments of any sort. So long as we 
have other people governing us, how can we call ourselves 
free ? Is there no way, then, of getting what we want, 
namely, the land, with all that’s in it and on it, for the people ? 
Yes, there is. Indeed, I would never have spoken to-night 
unless I had that to teU you. It’s no use telling you merely 
that things are wrong ; you knew that already, you knew it 
as well as I did. But I can tell you the way to have things 
put right, the sure way, the only way. However, I’m not 
going to tell you to-night. I’ve spoken long enough and have 
told you plenty for one night. Think over what I’ve said, 
that all the ways we’ve tried up till now are hopeless. Next 
Saturday night about the same time, if this stance is un- 
occupied and if the weather will let us stand out. I’ll show you 
the sure and only way we can be free.” 

The moment my speech was done I turned away, for I felt 
that discussion would spoil any effect it might have had. 
Kenneth was following me, but, ere his deliberate pace brought 
him alongside, a tall, business-like man, fairly well-dressed, 
hailed me with. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


353 


‘‘ Where do you come from ? I didn't expect to hear any- 
thing like that on Craigkenneth streets. Who are you. 
anyway ? " 

I told him and, as we sauntered up Guild Street with fre- 
quent halts when the talk grew interesting, he informed me 
he was a Socialist : his experiences had made him one. 

For many a year,” he said, ” I didn’t concern myself 
about questions of rich and poor; I was too comfortable. 
Ever since I left school I had been in Watson Brothers, the 
big rubber people in Edinburgh ; I was a clerk first and at 
last was head-cashief. The firm failed after I had been there 
for seventeen years. It was a slack time, and I went about 
idle for ten months. I had a wife and young family, and 
though we had saved something it wasn’t a great deal, and 
we got pretty well through it. Then I got in with Laird, the 
printer ; a clerk there, too, then cashier. I wasn’t his cashier 
a year when he went out of business quite suddenly ; he was 
getting old, and was a whimsical fellow anyway. There were 
all the hands thrown on the street, myself among them. 
That’s over five years ago, and I’ve never been in a place I 
could depend on since. I came through here to a crib last 
May, but I never know at the beginning of a week whether I 
may not get the road at the end of it. It was the knocking 
about I got that made me think ; I began to ask myself. How 
is it that men who are fit and willing to work can be thrown out 
in a moment and may be idle for months ? Is there not some- 
thing wrong in the whole system ? Then I got into touch 
with other fellows that had suffered very much in the same 
way, and from hearing their talk and thinking over things 
myself I came to the conclusion that our present system is 
rotten, and that the only cure is Socialism.” 

Several of my hearers had followed me up, and one young 
fellow, flushed-looking and smelling pretty heavily of whisky, 
put the question to me, 

“D’ye not think that trade would improve if we had Pro- 
tection ? ” 

Ere I could answer, the ex-cashier said impatiently, 

” Man, I wonder at you ! Protection or no Protection, 
what does that matter ? It’s not worth mentioning. It’s 
just a red herring drawn across the track to take you off ?he 
scent. Nothing would delight the Liberals and the Tories 
more than to have us fighting over Tariffs or Free Trade. 

AA 


354 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


That takes us away from the real question, as our friend here 
calls it : How are we to recover the land and the wealth of 
the country ? ** 

Others stopped me that night to ask my opinions or tell 
their own grievances. One, I remember, a tall, pale-faced 
youth, was a draper’s shopman. In one shop he had to serve 
from eight in the morning to eight on ordinary nights and ten 
on Saturday. “ Upon my soul,” he assured me, ” I had just 
the feehng that life wasn’t worth living. I didn’t care how 
soon I might be blotted out.” His wage had been a guinea 
a week. In his present shop the hours were from eight to 
seven, and though his wage was only a pound he was more 
content. He ended by declaring that there would need to 
be a change, else we would see a general burst-up. 

As we walked home under a thick sky that showed none of 
his loved stars, Kenneth delivered himself regarding my 
speech. He admitted I had spoken the truth. 

But it’s no worth while botherin’, Jamie,” he went on. 

Even though the human race could be improved, they’ll 
a’ perish some day, and what’s the use o’ improvin’ them ? 
Accordin’ to science, the sun’s lossin’ its heat, and by-and-by 
it’ll no gie enough heat to sustain life on oor planet ; syne 
everything ’ll perish, man wi’ the rest.” 

** That’ll be a long time yet, Kenneth,” I laughed ; not 
in your day or mine.” 

” No, Jamie ; but the end may come suner in anither way. 
If some o’ the heavenly bodies should happen to come ower 
near the sun and be drawn in, the sun’s heat would rise to 
such a pitch that oor globe would melt like butter ; in fact, 
it would become a ball o’ gas as it used to be.” 

” So you think, Kenneth, we should just be hke those 
geese ? ” and I looked up as an excited cackling in the thick 
air intimated that a long column was migrating south. 

” Ay, Jamie ; a body should follow his nature and no 
bother aboot it her folk.” 

I did not argue with him ; I had done enough in that way 
already. Though I might have told him that I must have 
been following my nature, so content, so satisfied did I feel. 
If the talking had done no good to my hearers, it had done 
much to myself. I was already looking forward to my next 
appearance. But things were to happen ere I spoke again 
at the Steeple. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


355 


CHAPTER XXXVI 

T here was a good deal of wet weather the next 
week, and the Saturday was rainy and grey. For 
the first time that season the air had the un- 
mistakable feel of snow, and I knew that if the 
northern peaks had been visible they would be seen to have 
on their winter cap. Kenneth spent the forenoon in my hut, 
and on leaving at dinner-time he asked when we should go 
in to the town. 

“ It’ll hardly be worth while going at all,” I said, ” unless 
it fairs — hardly worth while for me, at any rate.” 

” No, Jamie. The folk couldna stand oot in weather like 
this.” 

We finally arranged that if I decided on going I should call 
for him before seven and we should take the train. The Well 
station was three-quarters of a mile from the village, at least 
from the part of the village where my friend stayed, and 
rather than go so far out of our way we preferred walking to 
town, the more as the train service was poor. 

As darkness closed in, the storm grew wilder. Luckily I 
had laid in a plentiful store of coal, and, in spite of the wind 
which entered by every chink, I had my little hut as warm 
as an oven. Gazing into the ruddy depths of the stove I 
saw the faces of the dear ones of my old fife ; I looked at them 
with no melancholy, though it was strange to think of us so 
near and yet parted by a gulf deeper and wider than the 
ocean. Then my fancies wandered, and I made up a verse 
or two of a piece I meant to call Pat, for in the last few weeks, 
with my mind at peace, with leisure and energy left me by 
enforced idleness, I had been trying to bring my hand in 
at the long-neglected craft. So comfortable was I that I 
felt I might be more comfortable still, and seven o’clock, the 
hour agreed on with Kenneth, found me snugly settled in 


356 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


bed, and, by the soft light of my little lamp that stood on the 
trunk beside me, reading for the hundredth time some marked 
passages in The Bothie. Even when I laid the book aside I 
kept the lamp burning ; the light and warmth of my tiny 
shelter were enjoyed the more by contrast with the storm and 
dark without. Then the thought of wretched ones homeless 
on such a night broke the selfish dream. 

The storm raged for many hours, and twice I was wakened 
by the elm-boughs pounding on the roof. Then, I suppose, 
it had calmed, for when I next opened my eyes I could see 
daylight through the crevices of the walls. There was no 
sound of wind or rain, yet I again had the feeling that some- 
thing had disturbed me. Perhaps the door was not closely 
drawn and had been moved by a passing breeze ? No. Ere 
a minute had gone the sound that had wakened me was 
repeated ; there was no mistaking it now : somebody was 
rapping. I rose, unfastened the door and looked out. 

Was I dreaming ? There stood a little girl, bareheaded, 
her eyes smiling into mine. The smile was not for my attire 
— I was only in my nightshirt — ^it was the smile of old 
acquaintance. She was bareheaded, as I have said, her thick, 
dark-brown hair gathered off her brow with a black velvet 
riband. Her cheeks were round and fresh, her dewy hazel 
eyes had the soft yet roguish glance I have seen once or twice 
in the eyes of childhood. Her years would be about ten. 
One could not well picture a more winsome face, yet it was 
something else than the beauty that arrested me : it was the 
likeness I saw, or fancied I saw, to a face that was often with 
me in my dreams. Indeed, the question came. Can this be 
some little friend of Nina ? and I might have been alarmed 
but for the reassuring smile. 

The speed of thought ! All this had had time to flit through 
my fancy, and yet we had not stood two seconds looking into 
each other's eyes. 

“ Well, dearie, who are you ? " I asked. 

“ Please, I'm Elsie Graham," she said, speaking very purely, 
and, ere I could associate the name with anyone I knew, she 
added, " next door to old Mrs. Somers." 

" Oh yes," I said, and waited for the message. 

" And please, Mr. Bryce,” the little maiden went on, " it 
was Mrs. Somers sent me up for you. She would like you to 
come down as soon as you can." 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


357 

Oh I Well, ril be down directly. There’s nothing wrong, 
is there ? Maybe you don’t know, Elsie ? ” 

“ She didn’t say anything to my mother, but my mother 
thinks that it’s Kenneth that’s not home yet.” 

“ Oh ! ” I said again, and this time it was almost a groan. 
” Well, love. I’ll be down at once, nearly as soon as you. Tell 
her that, dear, and thank you very much for coming to let 
me know.” 

The little messenger gave me another of her shy, roguish 
smiles, and the next moment she was scampering away. 

There was not a person stirring in the village street ; indeed, 
it was still early, not seven o’clock, and daylight was barely 
full. The outer door of Kenneth’s cottage was open, and, as 
I went in, the old woman came forward from the kitchen. 
To a stranger her face would not have betrayed her trouble ; 
she had been schooled to endure all things. 

” Little Elsie came up for me,” I began. 

“Yes, Jims,” so she always named me ; “I wanted to see 
ye. Kenneth’s never hame and I’m gey and anxious, for 
you’re no there to look efter him. And I kent ye wadna coont 
it a trouble to dae what ye could to help me.” 

“ I’ll go off at once,” I assured her ; but the table was 
already set, and she insisted that I should drink a cup of tea. 

“ I suppose,” I said, as I sat down, “ my best plan will be 
to borrow a bicycle — some of your neighbours will have 
one ” 

“ The Scott lads have ane, I’m maist sure ; but Elsie ’ll 
ken — that bairn kens everything — and she’ll let ye see their 
hoose.” 

“ Yes. I’ll be no time of running in to Craigkenneth, if 
I need to go the whole way. Of course, I may meet him on 
the road.” 

“I've been thinking, Jims, it micht be safer to rin doon to 
Cowbrough’s first. Ye ken Kenneth sorts his powny every 
mornin’, and it’s just possible he may hae gaen doon there. 
Though I someway think ye’ll get him abootthe Miller’s Loan ; 
ye ken it, Jims ? ” 

“ Quite well.” It was a farm-lane that left the highway a 
good mile out. “ But why do you think he’ll be there, Mrs. 
Somers ? ” 

“ That’s whaur he was the last time I gaed oot to look for 
him. That’ll be twa year sin’. Elsie’s faither was livin’ 


358 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


then, and he gaed wi' me. It was three in the mornin' when 
we set oot, and we fund him a wee bit doon the Loan. We 
didna gang near him, for Kenneth’s gey stubborn when he’s 
that way, and he doesna like me to tak’ notice o’ him. So 
we just waited on till he rase o’ himsel’, and syne we keepit 
walkin’ on in front and restin’ when he rested, and he was 
hame at the back o’ five. Sae I someway think ye’ll find him 
aboot the same place. He was sittin’ in the munelicht on the 
left-haun bank, mebbe twenty yairds doon, just this way ; ” 
and she turned her eyes to the floor and put her hands on her 
knees. 

" But ” I began in wonder ; then stopped myself and 

asked, “ Was that two years ago ? ” 

“ Ay, Jims ; twa year past in June ; it was the hinmost 
Saturday o’ June, or rather the Sunday mornin’. I doot the 
lang wait did me nae guid, for I’ve never been able to gang 
twice through the kitchen sin’ syne withoot sittin’ doon to 
rest.” 

I had been about to blunder out the question. How could 
she see him when she had been blind for five years ? But I 
had soon understood ; a mother can see without eyes. 

” Well,” I said, rising, and I tried my hardest to keep my 
voice steady, ” there’s no need for you to go when you have 
somebody to go for you. And I think he’ll come along with 
me all right.” 

” I think he will, Jims ; that’s the way I was sae anxious 
you should gang. For I’ve nae doot Mrs. Graham wad hae 
gaen if I had asked her.” 

My little friend Elsie guided me to the house where I was 
to get the bicycle, and I set off at once. Cowbrough’s house, 
a new villa with offices behind, was at the Craigkenneth end 
of the place and a little way off the main road. Though I 
turned in at the gate, I had little hope of finding Kenneth, 
for the old woman’s presentiment had impressed me. Her 
instinct was out, however, for once. As I passed behind 
Cowbrough’s house I came on Kenneth lying close to the back 
gate. I could not have told the colour of his clothes for mud, 
his cap was gone, and when I shook him up I noticed that his 
mouth was dirty and red with blood. He knew and named 

me, and at once began raving about ” that auld ,” whom 

he threatened with the most fearsome vengeance. It was the 
first time I had seen Kenneth drunk, and, though aware that 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


359 


drink changes some men-s nature, I shuddered at his awful 
curses. He came away with me, however, almost at once, 
and after the first few steps, which certainly described a rather 
circuitous course, he walked with amazing steadiness, only 
stopping every little while to execrate his absent foe. We 
were nearly at the high-road when a loud “ Hey 1 ” made us 
halt. There was the gross figure of the old fruit-grower 
following us up and advancing on us swiftly, lame leg and all. 
Placing himself in front of Kenneth and shaking the stick 
which he pointed at him, he demanded, 

“ Have ye sorted my pony ? 

Kenneth’s ravings had given me to suspect that there had 
been an encounter between the two already, and from the 
stories of others I learned what had happened. Hearing 
someone staggering about the place earlier in the morning, 
Cowbrough had come out and run into Kenneth, who assailed 
him with frightful curses, discharging on him the venom that 
had been accumulating in his heart for years. Cowbrough 
replied by ramming the dirty end of his stick into Kenneth’s 
mouth. 

Now that his old t 5 n'ant was confronting him once more, 
Kenneth’s valour began to ooze away, though enough was 
left to enable him to reply in a sullen tone. 

No, I havena sorted yer powny.” 

** Will ye go back and sort my pony ? ” the old fellow 
demanded, his face set, his voice as hard as steel. 

Kenneth stood, giving him a furtive glance but making 
no answer. 

Thinking to compose the row, I said, “I’ll come back and 
sort it as soon as I see him home.’’ 

As though he had not heard me speak or even known my 
presence, Cowbrough repeated, 

“ Will ye sort my pony, ye drunken blackguard ? ’’ 

“I’ll go and sort it,’’ I said ; and I had taken a step or two 
back when the old man lifted his stick and drew Kenneth two 
wild strokes on the arm. 

“ Jamie ! ’’ Kenneth called ; but he made no attempt to 
defend himself, so completely was he dominated by his old 
tryant. I was back ere he could get a third stroke. 

“ Stand out of that,’’ Cowbrough ordered, his eyes ablaze, 
his broad face livid. “ Stand out of that, I tell ye, or I’ll 
let you have the same.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


360 

At the sight of Kenneth, a grown man and my friend, being 
beaten hke a dog by this old villain, a passion of pity and 
wrath came over me ; yet this will hardly account for the 
storm of rage that now swept me away. The truth must have 
been that with me too it had been gathering for a while. 

" You’ll what ? ” I asked in a low concentrated tone. 

Down with that stick, you , or I'll fell you.” 

Wild as was the old man’s passion, it yielded to mine ; the 
stick was lowered, and it was in another tone, a tone of 
expostulation, that he said, 

” I’m asking nothing but my rights. If I pay a man, I’ve 
a right to have my work done.” 

I did not speak ; I merely pointed to the house, and 
Cowbrough, after a very brief hesitation, hirpled away, 
with a mumbled threat about making somebody ” pay for 
this.” 

The scene, or perhaps the blows, had made Kenneth a 
soberer man ; he came with me readily, nor did he speak 
a word the whole way. For once the old woman’s blindness 
was a blessing, though I found myself wondering whether the 
mother’s instinct might not again replace the lost sense and 
let her see her son as he looked now. She understood at 
least that I had him in control, and afraid no doubt of waken- 
ing his stubbornness she let me take him into the little room, 
help him off with his clothes and into bed. On his right arm, 
below the elbow, were two big red lumps. 

The bicycle had been left at Cowbrough ’s ; indeed, I had 
meant, even before our rough encounter, to go back as soon 
as I could and attend to Kenneth’s duties. As I reached the 
back-gate, the old fellow, who had come out of the stable, 
called to me, 

” Where are ye going ? ” 

His face had not fully recovered its sanguine hue, and the 
expression was sharp and stern. 

” I’m going to look after the pony,” I said indifferently. 

” You’re no longer in my employment ; ” and with his 
staff he gave me the gesture of dismissal I had given him not 
half an hour before. The passion, that had somewhat ebbed, 
surged in my brain once more ; I laid my hand on the gate to 
tear it open and spring on him. He understood, and, though 
he held his staff ready, there was fear in his eyes. That, and 
the moment’s delay in opening the gate, gave reason her 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 361 

chance. I stood for some seconds eyeing the old man silently, 
then took the bicycle and rode away. 

Once back at the strawberry-field I sauntered up to the 
knoll to which I often resorted for the sake of the view. The 
day was not sunny ; indeed, the sky was grey overhead, and 
on the peaks of the northern mountains white clouds were 
down. But the landscape was exceedingly clear, clearer 
than it often is in sunshine, and cottages and farms could be 
counted right to the mountains. The air was very still, for 
even in the country a special quietness comes with the sabbath. 
The beauty and calm of Nature contrasted strangely with 
the wild scene of violence I had lately witnessed, and once 
again — how often have I had occasion for the like ! — I found 
myself murmuring, 

*' And all save the spirit of man is divine.” 

Not that I exempted myself from the judgment passed upon 
my kind. I felt shame enough at the part I had played. 
Just like my old tyrant, I had yielded to brief madness, I 
who taught others how to live and who preached that life 
was love ! 


362 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXXVII 

W HEN Kenneth came up next morning I told 
him he would need to start the delving alone : 
Cowbrough had sacked me. 

“ He’s dune the same to me, Jamie, mair than 
ance, but I aye started as if naething had happened and he 
never said a word.” 

” I don’t know that it would be quite the same in this 
case,” I said. ” At any rate, he and I had better be parted ; ” 
and though my friend, who looked very downcast, pled with 
me to accompany him, I kept to my resolve. This was what 
I had planned. I should look for a room in Craigkenneth ; 
my things could be sent on by the carrier in the afternoon, 
and I should call for them at the carrier’s quarters. 

It was in the Wynds that I meant to settle. Many of the 
properties, I found, were factored by a joiner near by. I 
repaired to his yard and found a journeyman and a pren- 
tice leisurely breaking up boxes and bunching the chips for 
kindling stuff. The prentice took a handful of keys and set 
out as my guide. The new task must have been more to his 
mind than the one he had left, for he insisted on taking me 
round all the vacancies, and we spent the whole forenoon 
house-hunting. Most of the places were in or near the Walk, 
that straight broad street running up to the castle. The 
front buildings of the Walk are fairly uniform, dating mostly 
from the first half of the seventeenth century ; a few survivals 
from a much earlier day lie at the back, and one or two of 
these were on our list. The first was in a court, to which we 
gained access by an old arch on the Walk. On three sides 
the court was shut in by high blind walls ; the house filled 
the north side. It was of three stories, with crow-stepped 
gables, and had three dormer windows finished with fieur-de- 
hs. One of the dormer rooms was to let. The walls were 
oak-panelled, the wood-work being much decayed except on 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


363 

one side, the left-hand side as you faced the window. Here 
a centre-panel, much wider than the rest, was painted, and 
though the work had been done many centuries ago the 
colours were still vivid. This was the subject. A young 
lady bare-headed and in the ruff, pointed waist and swelling 
hoops of Mary's time, was confronting three court-gallants 
and holding out in her right hand something for their inspec- 
tion. What the something was could not be seen, for at the 
spot the distemper had peeled off or perhaps had been de- 
hberately removed. Something revolting it must have been ; for 
two of the gallants were gazing on it in fascinated horror, the 
third has raised his wild eyes from it to the lady's face, while 
she meets his look with a glance of triumphant malice. As 
has appeared from an earlier episode, pictures have sometimes 
a weird effect on me, and I soon felt that I could not live in 
view of this one, the more as I had divined in an instant 
(whether rightly or wrongly) what the shocking something 
was. On my communicating my impression to the youthful 
joiner, he promptly suggested, 

“ Ah weel ! let's try the Lang Close." 

This is a noted lane of the Old Town. Its name is a shib- 
boleth. When a Craigkenneth native, far from home, for- 
gathers with a stranger who claims the same birthplace, he 
tests him with the question, “ D'ye ken the Lang Close ? 
You enter it from the Walk by a long " pend " — a tunnel, it 
might best be called — the roof being the floor of the front 
buildings. Once through the tunnel, you have a narrow strip 
of open sky overhead, a cobbled passage beneath your feet, a 
high wall on the left hand, and on the right a row of low rude 
hovels. Open your arms and you can touch the wall with 
one hand and the house-fronts with the other. I told my 
guide that he need not show me any houses here ; I required 
more air than the Land Close could afford. For the sake of 
seeing it all, we walked on to the far end, where you emerge 
by another " pend " on to the Lady Wyn^ 

Another old dwelling we explored. It stands at one end 
of the Walk, and does not need the name " Lord Living- 
stone's Lodging " to prove that it must have belonged to 
an important family. It is the loftiest building in the Old 
Town, having windows on six stages ; its entrance is an im- 
posing doorway approached by broad steps and surmounted 
by heraldic devices. On the third landing was a vacant 


364 THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

room. Its most striking feature was a chimney-piece of 
elaborately carved oak. The fireplace, however, had been 
partly built up and furnished with a modern ^ate. The 
chimney-piece, with its broad lintel and lofty jambs, was 
ludicrously out of keeping with the size of the room ; it was 
not even in the centre of tho wall, but was close up to one side. 
Soon I learned the secret. The apartment had once been 
spacious, but had been divided up by partitions to accommo- 
date several tenants. The window looked on to the Walk, 
and altogether the place was the most inviting I had yet visited. 
I was ready to take it at once, and I only accompanied my 
prentice-friend to the remaining houses because I saw he 
wished to draw out the task over the whole forenoon. The 
one difficulty was that the room was too dirty for immediate 
occupancy ; however, the factor, who was in his workshop 
when we returned, undertook to see it tidied up by a char- 
woman and have it ready for me by the next day. The delay 
was not serious ; I resolved to spend the night at the Tem- 
perance Hotel, where I had put up before. 

It was nov/ past noon, and I went into a cook-shop in Guild 
Street to have some dinner. While waiting to be served, I 
was looking idly at the houses opposite. Suddenly a notice dis- 
played from one of the window^s fixed my attention and gave 
me an idea. It ran, “ Lodgings for workmen and Travellers." 

“ What sort of a lodging-house is that ? " I inquired of the 
woman who brought my meal. 

She shook her head and said she could not say much in its 
favour ; but if I wanted a bed for the night, she could recom- 
mend Cannon’s lodging-house in the Vennal. I noted the 
name in my memory and resolved to try the place. I was 
in working garb and should have needed to change if I asked 
admittance to a respectable hotel. The afternoon and 
evening I spent wandering about the old part of the town, 
where I often encountered acquaintances from the strawberry- 
field. By nine o’clock I was tired enough to feel the charm of 
rest, even under a humble roof, and I made for the Vennal, 
a short narrow street connecting Guild Street with the Walk. 
Near the lower end was a travellers’ notice above the door of 
a very old dingy building. 

“ Is that Cannon’s lodging-house ? ’’ I asked of an old man 
who was standing ^vith another much younger. 

“ Ay," he answered, " and this is Mr, Cannon." 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 365 

The younger man, who was well dressed and smart looking, 
greeted me civilly, and ere I could tell my business said, 

“ You'll be wanting a bed ? " 

I said I was. 

“ I think we'll manage to accommodate you. Just go up 
the stair there. You'll find a man to look after you." 

I entered the building as he directed. In this strange 
world we never can say where the next step may land us. 
It was an unlikely place for such a thing, and certainly nothing 
of the kind was in my thoughts ; yet I was to make a dis- 
covery that would lighten a dark passage of my early days. 

On the first landing of the turret-stair were two doors. 
Both were shut. Behind the leftmost I could hear voices. 
I knocked at it, and a voice called “ Come in." Opening the 
door by a latch I found myself looking into a large apartment 
that seemed part-ldtchen, for it held a modern close-range 
laden with pots and kettles, but part-bedroom as well, for 
two fixed-in beds took up the whole of one side. Standing 
before the fire were three persons, a man and two women. 
The man came forward to meet me. He was a hunchback 
dwarf, with no neck, but with his head stuck very upright 
on his shoulders. His face was cheerful and kindly, and he 
welcomed me like an old friend. 

" Come along," he said ; " how have you been living ? " 
I assured him I was all right, and as the women moved to 
make room for me I went forward. Of the women, who were 
both bareheaded and seemed at home, the one had nothing 
striking in her appearance — ^indeed, I can recall nothing about 
her looks except that she was neither young nor old ; the other, 
who might be forty, was plump, comely, and very tidily put 
on. There had been a frank and somewhat expectant smile 
on her fresh face from the moment she set eyes on me, and she 
now moved aside to give me her place, and invited me to 
come near the fire as the night was cold. It needed neither 
the words nor the movement, her glance was enough, to tell 
that I had found favour in her eyes. § 

I was not well settled at the fire when the little man asked, 
" Where’s your pal ? " and added, ere I could speak, " the 
fiddler that was with you last time ? " 

I looked down at him sharply, suspicious that he was 
chafiing ; but the women, speaking at once, cried out, " No, 
no," and went on to say that I wasn’t the fiddler’s pal. 


3^6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


My little friend surveyed me closely. 

“ Neither he is,” he said at last. ” You*ll excuse me. I 
did take you for him. You see,” he explained, ” we had 
two chaps here a fortnight since ; one of them was a fiddler, 
and I took you for his pal. Isn't he like him ? ” 

One of the women admitted there was a bit likeness ; her 
neighbour, my comely friend, shook her head smilingly and 
declared this was a different looking lad altogether. She 
placed a chair for me in front of the fire. 

” You’ll be tired,” she said, ” if you’ve been on the road.” 

The little chap was anxious to set himself right with me. 

” You’ll excuse me,” he said ; ” it was quite a mistake.” 

I reassured him and explained that I had never been in the 
place before, but had been directed to it, and that the boss, 
whom I had met on the street, had told me I was sure of a bed. 

” You’ll get that. Would you like one to yourself or ” 

” He’ll never be so selfish,” interrupted my lady-friend with 
a laugh, in which the others joined. 

“It’s fourpence for a bed to yourself and twopence ha'- 
penny if you go halves,” the little fellow went on. 

I would muster the fourpence, I told him. 

” And I’m no to have a chance ? ” the lady asked with 
mock-reproach. 

I said with a smile that I should need room to sprawl in. 

” Ay ; he’s tired, poor lad ! ” she said in a feeling tone to 
her companion, and her hand, with quite a motherly touch, 
patted my shoulder. 

“ You'd maybe like to go to your bed now? ” the little 
fellow suggested, and I assented. 

It was not that I was fatigued ; only I felt I should be safer 
once I was away from my fair friend, good-hearted as I saw 
her to be. She gave me a kindly look and wished me a good 
night’s sleep, as I followed my guide from the room. 

The little man had lit a candle, and it was needed. We 
twisted round the turnpike-stair to the next landing, climbed 
on to the flat above, then walked through a long passage with 
windows on the right hand looking down, no doubt, to the 
street, and on the left several doors that would open, I sup- 
pose, on sleeping-rooms. At the far end my guide stopped 
and, telling me that this was my place, let me into a big square 
low-roofed room, camceiled on two sides and with no window 
but a small skylight. It contained three beds, the largest 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


367 


running across from the door, the two smaller at right angles 
and separated from one another by a long bench. The room 
was but dimly lighted with the candle, for a small hand-lamp that 
was nailed, as I afterwards found, to the wall on the right was 
screwed so low as only to give a tiny spark ; so when my friend 
indicated the narrowest bed as mine and turning down the 
clothes assured me that I should find it all right, I could not put 
the matter to the proof. But testimony to the truth of my friend’s 
assurance was forthcoming from an unexpected quarters ; there 
was a movement in the adjoining bed and a voice declared. 
Ay, that he will ; he’ll find everything clean and dacent ; 
no a beast aboot. Na, na.” 

When the figure raised itself a little, I made it out to be 
that of a grey-haired man, of whose appearance I could only 
tell that he had bits of side-whisker and a very prominent nose. 
He had spoken in a strong voice and a deliberate and some- 
what consequential tone. 

“ That’ll be fourpence, then,” said my guide, who seemed 
about to retire. 

” Do I pay just now ? ” I asked. 

” Yes,” he answered, rather apologetically ; ” I’ve to 

account for it every night to the boss.” 

” Ou ay,” the old man again corroborated ; “it’s the rule 
o’ the hoose. Ay, I’ve never seen onything but what’s dacent 
aboot Humphie. Na, na.” 

The little man received his fourpence, and with a civil 
good-night left the room, taking the candle with him. When 
I tried to turn up the lamp and obtain more light, my neigh- 
bour assured me it wouldn’t screw, and he was correct. The 
handle was left stiff, he supposed, on purpose to ” hain the 
ile.” Almost below the lamp stood a big zinc pail, and, while 
I was undressing, the old gentleman rose and gave a practical 
demonstration of its use. He also indicated the bench at the 
bedside as a handy receptacle for my clothes. I took off 
everything but my semmit, and it was well I did, for ere I was 
half an hour in bed I had reason to suspect that the old man’s 
praises of its cleanliness were exaggerated. It was not long 
till I found that my neighbour was both talkative and curious. 

” Ha’e ye travelled faur the day ? ” he asked, before I was 
well down. 

No ; I had only come from the Well. 

” Ye’re an eddicated lad, I can hear,” was his next remark, 


368 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


I modestly disclaimed the possession of much learning. 

“ Mebbe ye’re a gey lad for a bucket ? ” he suggested, and 
added, like mysel’.” 

I again said No ; I wasn’t a great drinker. 

I’m an awfu’ for my lush,” he confessed. " I’ve 

drunk a sovereign since Friday. Ay, it was just on Friday 
that I got the sovereign frae Admiral Seton, and I’ve nae thing 
but some coppers left.” 

The admiral’s name in such a mouth was a surprise. Sud- 
denly grown curious in my turn, I asked, 

“You know Admiral Seton, then ? ” 

” Ou ay. It’s no yesterday that I ken him.” 

He would, no doubt, have told me more, for he seemed com- 
municative enough about his own affairs, but he had got out his 
pipe and was trying to have a smoke. The pipe was not draw- 
ing, and this diverted him from the first topic. He had not been 
much about Lowis in my time ; this I could teU, not from his 
face, for in the bad light I saw him very imperfectly, but from 
his talk. I am somewhat sharp at placing dialects, and ere the 
old man had spoken half a dozen words that night I knew he was 
far from his calf-country, and that his country was Strathmore. 

” You don't belong to this countryside,” I said, when my 
ear informed me that the pipe was going. 

” Na ; I’m frae the north ; I belang to Meigle. Ye’ll ken 
Meigle ? ” 

I had been near it — at Coupar-Angus, I told him. 

” Coupar-Angus ! Man, I had a brither had a fine licensed 
shop in Coupar-Angus. He married the weedow. But he 
gaed through 't in nae time. He was an awfu’ lad for the 
booze — like mysel’.” 

He took a few draws in silence, then continued, 

” Ay, he met wi’ a queer death. He had been drinkin’ ae 
nicht, and his cronies brocht him hame and just opened the 
door and shoved him in. And when his wife rase in the morn- 
in’, she fund him lyin’ there deid. Ay ; Smart, the biscuit- 
baker, was ane o’ them. Smart never liket to hear o’ that.” 

” But you didn’t go in to the licensed trade ? ” I queried. 

” No ; I’m a coachman to trade, when I had ony trade ; 

for noo I'm an auld silly that can dae naething but drink. 

But I’ve been aboot guid hooses in my day ; I was under- 
coachman a while wi’ Lord Airlie.” 

” And you would be about Lowis at one time ? ” I suggested. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


369 

** Ay, I was a groom there for a twalmonth when I was a 
young fallow. That’s lang syne noo. The auld laird was 
leevin’ then, and this laird was a young swankie like mysel’. 
I kent him fine then, for he was hame three month frae his boat.” 

” So you came south to see him for old acquaintance sake ? ” 

” No a’thegither. It was this way, ye see. I gang trampin’ 
aboot up north yonder roond a’ the kintraside, and I meet in 
wi’ a’ sorts of bodies, and one leddy says to me ae day, ' What 
way d’ye no go into an auld man’s Home ? There’s one near 
Craigkenneth, a very comfortable one, I understaun’.’ Weel, 
I kent there was, for it was to the fore when I was at Lowis. 
It’s oot at Kippleross ; I used to drive by it often. A laird 
left his hoose to be a hame for auld folk, and he left his laun 
and siller for its upkeep. Sae as the winter was cornin’ on, 
it cam’ into my heid that I micht dae waur nor tak’ the leddy’s 
advice. Sae I just made my way doon bit by bit — I’ve been 
three weeks on the road — and I landed here last Wednesday.” 

” And is the admiral going to get you in ? ” 

Aweel, ye see, it was this way. I ken a doctor here. Dr. 
Wilkie — ye’ll no likely ken him ; his faither was a doctor up 
by at Meigle. I’ve driven the faither mony a time when he 
was oot o' a man. Weel, I ca’s on Dr. Nigel and tells him 
what I’m efter, and I said I kent there was such a place when 
I was at Lowis Hoose. So he says I should ca’ on the admiral, 
for his word wad gang a lang way. I never kent till then he 
was an admiral.” 

” And is he going to get you in ? ” I repeated, for the old 
fellow seemed lapsing into another smoking fit. 

” Aweel, I gangs oot to the auld place — it’s a grand place 
noo to what it was in my time — and they said the admiral 
was at hame, sure enough, and he comes oot to the back coort 
whaur I was staunin’, and I tells him whae I am and what I 
wanted — of course, he wadna mind me at first ony mair than 
I wad ha’ kent him ; forty ’ear maks an odds on a body. But 
he tells me he taks naething to dae wi’ the Hame and he 
could help me in no way. Hooever, he gied me a sovereign ; 
it was aye something.” 

” Did he remember you ? ” 

” He never said whether he did or no, tho’ I minded him 
o’ him bein' hame when I was servin' there. But I’ve little 
doot he minded me. I’ve been thinkin’ that he mebbe wadna 
care to hae thae days brocht back.” 

BB 


370 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“No?” 

“ Na. He was a steerin’ chiel in thae days, fair daft on 
the hizzies, mebbe wi’ him bein’ on the watter and no seein’ 
ony. In fac’, he near got into a bad mess, though there’s no 
mony ken aboot it but mysel’.” 

“ Indeed ? ” 

“ Ay,” pursued the old man ; “it was this way. There 
was a lass at the Big Hoose, a table-maid, a gey weel-faured 
hizzie, Ann Dobbie was the name. I had a bit wark wi’ her 
mysel’, though I had heard she was spoken for ; a chiel aboot 
Shirgarvie was to mairry her, a forester.” 

I could scarcely keep back an exclamation ; it seemed to 
me that I knew already the revelation that was to come. I 
was about to suggest the forester’s name, but I thought the 
old man would come on it in his rambhng story. 

“ However,” he continued, “ doesn’t Ann and the young 
laird start cairryin’ on thegither ? They were gey sly aboot 
it, and I micht never ha’ been a bit the wiser if I hadna come 
on them ae nicht up the burnside.” 

Here the old fellow favoured me with a description of the 
scene, which I may pass over. 

“ I dived into the wood,” he went on, “ and I don’t suppose 
either o’ them wad ever ken wha it was. But I watched them 
efter that, and I’ve got them at the same game. Weel, the 
young laird’s no long back to his boat when Ann gets mairret in 
an awfu’ hurry ; and I dinna suppose there was a body kent the 
reason o’ the hurry but me and Tam Ferguson, a gardener 
lad, for it was ower guid a story to keep to mysel’ a’thegither. 
Hooever, it wasna long till a’body kent there was a reason, 
for Ann hadna been a wife mony month when a bairn maks its 
appearance, and fine Tam and me kent whase bairn it was.’ 

“ And the fellow she married was a forester at Shirgarvie, 
you say ? ” 

“ Ay ; I kent the name fine, but I canna mind it noo ; 
it’s sae lang syne.” 

“ There was a forester about Shirgarvie at one time — in- 
deed, he was head-forester when he died — called Morrison.” 

“ The very name ! ” cried the old man. “ Morrison was 
the fallow’s name. Weel, he rocked the cradle for the young 
laird’s wean.” 

I could not speak ; I was recalling things about the poor 
Wanderer that had been vaguely strange to me at the time 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


371 


and were now explained. So lost was I in these memories 
that I let the old man ramble on without heeding, almost 
without hearing, him. And when at last I could call in my 
thoughts, I found he had passed to matters that concerned 
himself, — when he would start for the north, how he would 
raise money, and so on. I was tempted to bring him back to 
the story and ask him questions it suggested ; this above all : 
did the young laird take any interest in his child, and did he 
know her in later days when he was the laird and the admiral 
and she a homeless wanderer ? But I bethought me that my 
neighbour was less likely to know this than myself ; so I lay 
silent and pensive, while he told his plans of begging his train- 
fare from Dr. Nigel and then footing it all the way. 

“ But ye’re tired,” he said at last, finding that his talk no 
longer evoked question or comment, ” and I’ll just be keepin’ 
ye waukin’ wi’ my clavers.” 

Once or twice afterwards he made a remark on the closeness 
of the room, the noise downstairs, and similar topics. I gave 
no answer and he soon stopped. There was certainly a great 
noise in the lower regions, as if most of the inmates of the 
estabhshment were gathered there and engaged in a wild 
wrangle. Then doors began to slam, some quite close to 
us, and when it had grown very late — it must have been past 
midnight — there was a tremendous staggering in the long 
passage, our door burst open, and first one man, then a second 
reeled into our dark chamber and clashed on the floor. Soon 
the little man appeared with a candle. After surveying the 
new-comers and satisfying himself, apparently, that nothing 
more could be done with them, he blew out the lamp and 
retired, leaving the room in total darkness. The pair lay a 
while without speech or movement ; then one began calling 
for Humphie ” and demanding a match. In a little I 
could hear him groping in his clothes, and at last he managed 
to strike a light, and with some searching found the cigarette 
that had dropped from his mouth when he fell. He was also 
able to recognise his mate and greeted him with many oaths, 
to which the other was too drunk to respond. Then he asked 
and repeated the question every few seconds, ” Are ye goin’ 
to yer bed, Jacob ? ” and when Jacob remained silent or 
answered only with a short ” No,” he proceeded to urge the 
desirableness and even necessity of going. After a time he 
volunteered to help Jacob off with his boots, and after much 


372 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


groping and many inquiries for the whereabouts of his san- 
guinary feet he started to the task. The jogging which this 
entailed roused Jacob somewhat from his lethargy, the first 
token of returning life being a request for a smoke. With 
much fumbling another cigarette was produced and lit and 
stuck in Jacob’s mouth, and the work of undressing went on. 
Occasionally, as he tugged at boot or trouser-leg, the assistant 
would lose his grip, the two friends would be parted, would 
roll on the floor, would even at times, so far as I could judge, 
turn a back-somersault, with much dim moaning and cursing. 
When such a catastrophe occurred, Jacob would lie helpless ; 
his friend, once recovered from the shock, would start cruising 
about in the darkness, demanding “ Where are ye, Jacob ? I 
say, Jacob, I say, where are ye ? ” and announcing his discovery 

with “ Is this you, Jacob ? Is this yer leg? " Boots, trousers, 

and jacket were gradually peeled off in the order named ; and 
Jacob was then regarded as fit for being put to bed. At this 
point, however, he turned obstinate and would not move. 

“ Ye must go to bed, Jacob.” 

Silence till the twentieth repetition, then a vague ” No.” 

” What’ll ye do, Jacob ? ” 

Again silence, again much repetition, and at last Jacob 
would intimate his intention to ” lie here.” 

” Ye can’t lie there, Jacob ; ye must go to bed, Jacob ; 
must go to bed, Jacob ; ” and after long effort, and more by 
friendly constraint then argument, he succeeded in depositing 
the stubborn Jacob on the groaning bed. He had next to 
attend to his own undressing, a task that was not accomplished 
without the expenditure of much time, labour, and cursing. To 
go to bed had taken, as near as I could calculate, a little over two 
hours. Most of the time, amid all their tugging and tumbling, 
they had continued the attempt to smoke, lighting matches 
and cigarettes, letting both fall on the floor, and as often as 
not leaving them there. In bed they smoked still, dropping 
the live matches among the clothes and talking unconcernedly 
about setting the house on fire. How it has escaped till now, 
for I notice it still survives, is a marvel. The old man next 
me had been kept awake like myself, and had occasionally 
relieved his feelings with an ” Och, och ! ” ” Eh, sirs ! ” ” Isn’t 
that awfu ? ” We were not to have peace even when our 
neighbours had lain down. They had sobered considerably, 
and they maintained a conversation of a very miscellaneous 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


373 


sort, from which I made out that they were barrow-men, that 
is, street-porters who meet commercial travellers at the 
station and wheel about their samples from shop to shop. 
Jacob's mate, whose name I never heard, taunted Jacob with 
meanness, and reverted to the charge at least a score of times. 
One day he had given Jacob a “ wing " ; another day, when 
he was short, he asked Jacob for a “ wing," which Jacob 
refused, though he had been out with a barrow all day and 
had plenty. Both fellows spoke well and must have received 
a fair education ; Jacob, indeed, referred to himself as having 
been meant for better things. In his rambling talk he grew 
wild over some Hooligans who molested him, and he swore 
he would knife them though he should swing for it. When 
the pair ceased talking and began to snore, my old neighbour, 
hearing me move in bed, asked, " Hasn’t that been a terrible 
racket ? " and, on my assenting, proceeded to tell me he was 
feeling " dry " and not well of himself ; the drink had upset 
him, though once on a day it would have put him neither up 
nor down. He thought he would go down to the kitchen and 
make some tea ; he had tea with him in a " poke." I could 
hear him getting into some of his clothes ; then, with the aid 
of matches, he found the door. In about half an hour he 
returned, and in answer to my kindly inquiries assured me the 
tea had done him good ; he mentioned also that it was near 
four o'clock, and that rain had come on. This last I knew 
already, for I had heard the drops pattering on our garret-roof. 
Eluding the old man’s attempts to draw me into conversation, I 
tried my hardest to sleep, and this time I did succeed. When 
I woke, it was still perfectly dark,but some of the inmates down- 
stairs were stirring, for doors slammed at times and it must have 
been the noise that broke my sleep. Ere long the two late- 
comers began to move and exchange an odd word, and no 
sooner was he sure of a listener than my old neighbour started : 

" Eh, lads ! but ye was drunk last nicht." 

" Were we ? " returned a voice that I knew for Jacob's. 

“Ye was that. Lod ! ye was as drunk as I ever kent lads 
in my life. But naething wrang ! Na, na. Ye was inter- 
ferin' wi’ nobody. I’ve been boozin' gey sair mysel’ since 
Friday. Lod ! but I thocht ye wad never get to yer beds 
last nicht. You was the warst, and yer freen had an awfu' 
job wi' ye. Is he a' richt this mornin’ ? " 

“ Oh yes. I'm right enough ! " said Jacob's mate. 


374 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Isn't there another fellow there ? ” Jacob inquired. 

“ Ay,” said the old man ; “ but I doot he’s sleepin’ ; he 
was gey tired last nicht, and you lads wad keep him waukin ; ” 
and he gave further particulars of their drunken plight, 
directing his remarks to Jacob mostly, for the friend of Jacob 
seldom spoke. During the talk my old neighbour seemed to 
be rummaging his clothes, and would often strike a match to 
help him in the search. Suddenly he broke out in tones 
of consternation, 

“ What’ll I dae for my mornin’ ? Lod sake ? I never kent 
the like o’ this. I’ve only three bawbees left, and I thocht I had 
aboot saxpence. Just three bawbees ! That’ll no get my morn- 
in’ What am I to dae ? I canna gang withoot my mornin’.” 

His dismay at the prospect of losing the morning dram, which 
he evidently claimed as a natural right, was so comic that I 
had a hard struggle to keep down a snigger, and the bed began 
to shake under me when he inquired at Jacob, ” Will you gie 
me a bawbee for my mornin’ ? ” and when Jacob suddenly 
went to sleep, ” Will ye gie me a bawbee for my mornin ? ” 
he repeated, ” just a ha’penny to mak’ oot my mornin’, and 
I’ll gie ye ’t back afore nicht.” But Jacob must have been 
in a dead sleep, for he neither spoke nor moved. 

” Is he sleepin’, you ither lad ? ” asked the old man, shifting 
the direction of his voice. 

” I don’t know,” said Jacob’s friend indifferently. 

” Can you gie me a bawbee for my mornin’ ? ” the old 
coachman asked, keeping his voice aimed at the same quarter ; 
” ye’ll get it back afore nicht, for I’ll be gettin’ siller the day.” 

Then a thing happened that seemed wonderful to me at 
the moment, and has lost none of its strangeness since. The 
young fellow searched in his clothes, as I could hear, and even 
while my neighbour continued to request the ha’penny and 
to represent that he couldn’t do without his ” mornin’,” the 
other struck a light and tossed a coin to where the old man’s 
figure could be dimly discerned sitting up in bed. 

” Eh ! that’s kind o’ ye ; I’ll get my mornin’ noo,” he cried in 
glee. ” What I ” he exclaimed the next moment, ” a penny ! 
Eh, man ! that’s guid o’ ye. I never thocht I wad ha’ got a 
penny. But I’ll pay ye back, for I’ve to ca’ on a gentleman the 
day that's sure to gie me something, and I’ll pay ye back as 
sure ’s I get it. I’ll no say I’ll gie ye the penny, but I’ll gie ye 
drink. \^aur will I see ye ? Will I see ye aboot the station ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


375 


“ I don’t know.” 

” What’s yer name ? ” 

” You ask too many questions,” said the young fellow curtly. 

” Ah, weel,” said the old man somewhat abashed, but he 
soon recovered himself and assured his benefactor that he 
would give him it anyway when he came across him. 

Then he repeated the story I had been favoured with the 
night before of his vain endeavour to gain admittance to the 
Home at Kippleross. Jacob’s mate assured him the Home 
was a rare place : they gave you beer. Hereupon Jacob 
himself, awaking as suddenly as he had gone to sleep, entered 
into the talk, and warned the old man, whatever he ^d, not to 
go into the poor-house, for they gave you no beer, not though 
you were dying. My neighbour declared he could not live 
without his ” lush,” and with no shamefacedness, with a hint 
of self-praise even, he told how everything he had got hands 
on for thirty years back had gone in whisky and that he had 
drunk enough to float a ship. The younger fellows, prompting 
each other’s memories, bragged of their achievements in the 
same line. Listening to the three, one could learn their 
notion of hfe, indeed the younger men sometimes put it in 
so many words ; it was to drink and drab all that one earned, 
to share the last copper with a mate and look to him to do 
the same for you. As soon as I could detect the faintest hint 
of grey through the skylight I shpped quietly out of bed, 
took off the semmit in which I had slept, rubbed myself 
down with my hands and dressed. 

” Are ye for awa’ ? ” my old neighbour inquired ; and added 
that it was early yet, too dark to do anything, and so on. 

I answered as briefly as possible, and bidding the whole 
company a civil good-morning made my way out. My 
semmit I had rolled into a small bundle and I threw it into 
the first close I passed. At a pie-shop, which was open early to 
catch labourers, I had some bread-and-butter and a mug of 
tea. Then I repaired to the Royal Park. It was still the 
grey of morning ; the rain had ceased, though the close sward 
I walked on felt soft and dewy. How Nature’s calm con- 
trasted with the drunken riot of the past midnight ! How 
fresh the air after the stifling atmosphere I had left ! I 
drank it in with joy, even while repeating once more the 
too-oft repeated hne. 

Yet, as I recalled something of the morning’s incidents, I 
had to own that a sparkle of the divine was there. 


376 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXXVIII 

O NE advantage of my simple way of living was that 
it cost me little to flit or settle down. An iron bed- 
stead and some bed-clothes, a table, a chair or two, 
were about all I needed to furnish my new home. 
And now for work. I went out to Sparkwell that same even- 
ing and talked the question over with Kenneth. Potato- 
lifting was in progress, and my friend accompanied me to a 
farm near the village where he thought I might get a start. 
The potatoes were already bought by a Craigkenneth dealer, 
and the farmer, who had agreed to supply carts and men, 
was glad of my help as it left one of his hands free for ordinary 
work. Kenneth convoyed me back to town. 

“ I was wantin’ to have yer opinion, Jamie, on some scien- 
tific subjects,” he said. 

The problem that was exercising him at the time was, I 
found, that of glacial action in the Ice Age. That action had 
usually been made to account for the formation of our great 
lake-basins. Kenneth had been considering the explanation 
and he found it inadequate. I, alas ! was no authority, but 
I could listen and put questions, and the talk enticed my 
friend right into Craigkenneth. Perhaps he was curious to 
see my new abode as well. At any rate, he needed no coaxing 
to accompany me to the top of Guild Street. 

“ Kenneth,” I began, when we had stood some minutes 
at the mouth of the Vennal watching the noisy throng, “ is 
there a word for those folks ? What is the word ? Is there 
some word, some simple truth, that, if it were spoken to those 
people, would move them, would make them think, would 
change them, would make them want to lead a human life ? 
For you couldn’t call this human — all that drunkenness and 
racket and filth. These people — the ones, anyway, who do 
work and don’t live by steahng or mouching or prostitution — 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


377 


these people work like slaves during the week, and at the week- 
end they give themselves up to drink and lust and rioting. 
But you would call a human life — wouldn’t you ? — something 
hke this : to spend your day doing some useful, natural, 
necessary work, to be kindly and loving and helpful to other 
people, to be subject only to your own reason and not to a 
thing like whisky or to a passion like lust or anger ? Now, 
Kenneth, what is the word that could make those people give 
up their present ways and begin that human life ? Do you 
think there is such a word ? ” 

Kenneth thought a little, and then answered that it was 
possible ; yes, there might be such a thing, he believed there 
might. At the same time, he had the opinion that most of 
the Wynd folks were hardly fitted for a different life, and he 
instanced some he had known who had been taken to better 
surroundings and had returned to their old haunts. 

He was satisfied with my room and believed I might live 
there “ in a natural way.” The only fear he would have had 
for himself was that it might not afford him enough fresh air. 
That was the one point I was doubtful about myself. 

I went out with Kenneth, meaning to see him clear of the 
town. We sauntered down Guild Street, and had just passed 
the Steeple when my heart gave a leap : a tall figure came out 
of Cowan the music-seller’s and crossed the street. It was Nina! 

She carried a roll in her arm, probably some music, and was 
making in the direction of the station. I concluded she was 
going for the last Aletown train, which was about due to leave. 
The encounter occupied my thoughts all that evening after 
I had returned to my lone room. Nina had not glanced at 
me, and I had not dared to look at her, except for the short 
time that she was in front of me as she made for the street- 
corner. Had she seen me and recognised me ? I knew enough 
of women to feel sure that she had. Would she have noticed 
me had I been alone ? I was doubtful, but inclined to think 
she would not. That night — the first in my own home — 
sleep was long of coming. 

The work in the potato-field was familiar to me from my 
Mailing experience, and the week passed quietly. On the 
Saturday we stopped at one, and I had time to prepare for 
the other task that waited me in the evening. 

It was after seven when I strolled down to the Steeple 
The space in front was unoccupied, but I did not start speaking. 


378 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


For one thing, I wanted to see Kenneth and arrange about 
meeting him later and convoying him home. Besides, it was 
too early for the ploughmen, the class I was most anxious to 
reach. I resolved to wait till the half-hour. 

Ere long I had reason to fear that I was to be punished for 
my dilatoriness. Band-music sounded from the foot of Guild 
Street, and soon the Salvation Army marched round the Steeple 
and formed in front. I learned, however, from a young fellow 
who had accosted me and asked if I meant to speak, that the 
Army would only stay half an hour or so, and then proceed 
to its own hall. Not wishing to be near it, I sauntered down 
the street. Different people spoke to me, strangers most of 
them, though one was a very old acquaintance. He was the 
mill-man who used to do most of the threshing for Old Nicol 
at the Mailing. I could remember being sent down to Bar- 
beth once to flag him up and being overtaken by Miss Maymie 
and the admiral in a dog-cart as we were climbing the Lang 
Stracht. He halted now as I came forward, and, after re- 
marking that it was a fine night and that the town seemed 
busy, asked, 

“ Are ye goin’ to give us a few words, Mr. Bryce ? ” 

I had seen him in the crowd at my first speech, but had 
given him no thought. Had I speculated on the question 
at all, I should have concluded that, being mixed up so much 
with farmers and depending on them for custom, Christie 
would be unfriendly to my doctrines. Yet from his first 
remarks about the weather and the crowds, from the tone, 
even, in which he made them, I knew I should have been 
mistaken. How soon one gets to know ! Ere many weeks 
it was my experience that if I went into a shop, if I asked a 
question of a porter at the railway station, I could tell from 
the man’s tone, from his look, from his very attitude, whether 
he was friend or foe. 

I told Christie that I meant to start whenever the Salvation 
Army left. 

Did ye hear him the last nicht, Jake ? ” he asked his 
companion, a stranger to me. 

“ I did,” said the other with emphasis, as if challenging 
contradiction, ” and I ’greed wi’ every word he said.” 

“I’ll tell ye what it is, Mr. Bryce,” said the mill-man as 
emphatically, ” ye spoke nae thing but plain common-sense, 
I don’t care who says onything to the contrar’.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


379 


The encouragement, so little looked for, gave me heart. 
From others, however, I heard comments not so favourable. 
The young lads who swaggered along with much display of 
cuff and collar, clerks, as most of them would be, were hostile. 
They eyed me contemptuously, and often made gibes in a tone 
to let me overhear. One, I remember, in response to a com- 
panion’s remark, “ There’s the fellow that speaks,” said 
jeeringly, “ Yes ; he wants everybody to be his own master.” 

Genuine worldng-people were usually sympathetic. Two 
youngish men, who proved to be miners, though not employed 
in the district, spoke to me. One assured me that my sus- 
picions about the Union agents were well grounded. Though 
miners were mostly in the Union, they had seldom much 
faith in their agents. Here’s what he could tell me from his 
own experience. He had once been in an Eastern county 
looking for work. The pit-manager he applied to directed 
him to the miner’s agent : new hands were usually taken on 
through him. Now, the man put it to me, would the coal- 
masters have taken on hands through the miner’s agent if 
the agent was really as bitter against them as he professed 
to be ? No. The masters and he were in company. 

His mate joined in the talk, and declared that coal strikes 
were sometimes engineered by the agents and the masters 
working together. If too much coal had gathered at the 
pitheads in a district, the masters would give the agent the 
hint ; he would rake up some excuse for bringing the men out. 
As soon as the coal was cleared away at high prices, some other 
excuse was found for settling the dispute. The agent was 
well bribed for this, and so he was really in the pay of both 
masters and men. 

Kenneth appeared while I was talking with the miners, 
and I strolled back to the Steeple in his company. It was 
turned eight o’clock and the Army was taking the collection. 
The officer in charge had his cap on the ground and was 
gathering the coins into it, ejaculating a ” Hallelujah ! ” for 
every copper that fell, and a very unctuous ” Hallelujah ! 
Praise the Lord ! ” when there was a gleam of silver. Soon 
the band struck up and away it marched, with the small 
contingent of women following and some urchins trotting in 
the rear. I stepped out into the vacant space, and as soon 
as the music was far enough off to give my voice a chance, I 
cried. 


38 o 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Working-men and working- women ! I want to 3ay a 
little more about the things I began to speak of the other 
Saturday night.” 

A good many people who had been hanging about till I 
should begin closed in almost with a rush, the ploughmen 
lurched forward more deliberately, and ere I had shouted 
the opening sentence a second time I had a solid ring of 
listeners. 

“ That last night,” I went on, “I reminded you of the 
bad state that you and I are hving in. We do all the useful 
work, we get for it a wage that’s just enough to keep us fit 
for working more, and most of the profits of our work go to 
a handful of people who don’t work at all. I mentioned the 
different bodies we had looked to for help — Parliament, 
Trade Unions, the Labour Party — and I showed that these 
had left us, and always would leave us, just where we are. I 
told you ” 

The young tradesman who had interrupted me so often the 
last night, and had been in wait for me this evening, called out, 

” What society pays you for this ? ” 

” I told you ” I repeated, when he shouted vehemently, 

” Answer my question. What society pays you for coming 
here and speaking ? ” 

” Let the man go on,” ” Give the fellow fair play,” called 
some voices ; and the tradesman responded, 

” I’ll let him go on if he promises to answer my question 
before he goes away.” 

” I told you ” I said once more, amid laughter. 

” Answer my question, answer my question,” yelled the 
tradesman with equal persistency. 

” I’ll tell ye,” said a young, sturdy, fair-haired ploughman 
whom I had seen with carts about Sparkwell, ” I’ll tell ye 
wha pays him.” 

The other looked to him and demanded, ” Who is it ? ” 

” The man he works to,” answered the ploughman ; and the 
roar that followed overwhelmed my questioner and drowned 
opposition of every sort. I resumed amid tolerable quietness : 

” I told you there was a cure for the wrongs we are bearing, 
and I promised to tell you what that cure, that only and all- 
sufficient cure, is. This I will now tell you.” 

There was quite an expectant hush as I said this, and trying 
to lose no time I dashed on : 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


381 


“ One person owns all the land of a parish and the rest of 
the folk have none. A ploughman feels that this is unfair, 
and he goes out one day to a corner of ground that isn’t culti- 
vated and squats on it. What happens ? The laird sends 
a keeper to shift him. The ploughman won’t be shifted. 
What then ? The laird goes to the law-courts and gets an 
order that the ploughman must leave. The ploughman still 
refuses. What happens next ? The policeman of the district 
is sent to turn him away, and, if some of the squatter’s friends 
come to help him, a lot of policemen from other districts 
are called in.” (Here I noticed some of my hearers winking 
and nodding in the direction of two policemen who had 
stationed themselves a little way down the street and within 
range of my voice.) ” Even these are not a match for the 
ploughman and his friends. What’s the next move ? The 
soldiers are brought down from the castle there with their 
rifles and bayonets, and if the squatter and his friends still 
keep their ground the soldiers will shoot and stab them dead. 
A landlord, therefore, can’t hold his land himself ; left to him- 
self he is helpless. He holds it because he is backed up by 
gamekeepers, pohcemen, and soldiers. And who are these 
keepers, policemen, and soldiers ? Men who belonged to 
the working-class to begin with, but have become a weapon 
in the landlords’ hands to keep the workers down.” 

Here a tall and rather good-looking young fellow, smart 
and well dressed, advanced on me and, putting up his fists, 
asked, 

” Can you fight ? ” 

Some of the listeners seemed ready to enjoy the sport that 
was coming ; others called, ” Leave the man alone,” ” Give 
the fellow fair play.” My challenger, who was tipsy, shouted, 
” I’m an old soldier and I won’t hear the British Army abused. 
Can you fight ? Can you fight ? ” Some acquaintances tried 
to haul him away, and nearly dragged the jacket off his back. 
This excited him the more, and shpping from their clutches 
he ran forward as if he. would strike me, shouting. ” Put 
up your hands.” A little fellow, a head and a half shorter, 
sprang in between us and gave him a sharp blow on the chest. 
His friends caught him once more and managed to draw him 
back. I resumed : 

“Of course I am aware that they give a very different 
reason for having policemen and soldiers. They say that the 


382 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


police are there to protect property, and that soldiers are 
there to defend our country. But that can have no meaning 
for us working-people, for we have no property to protect, 
we have no country to defend. The property all belongs to 
our masters, the country belongs to the lairds. Let the lairds 
and the employers be their own policemen and soldiers.” 

A thin-faced, grey-bearded man, with a very consequential 
look and tone, interrupted me with, ” Who has that property, 
will ye tell me ? ” and he pointed down the street to a range 
of warehouses owned by the Co-operative Society. ” Does 
that not belong to working-folk ? ” I did not answer, but 
pursued my own argument : 

” It appears, then, that if we working-people are kept down, 
it is simply because we lend ourselves as weapons to the 
masters. Stop that and the masters are helpless, they are 
masters no longer.” 

” And we're to let the Germans invade our country ? ” 
cried a very httle bandy-legged fellow who had, however, 
an intelligent face with particularly full bright eyes. Again 
I left the questioner to find his own answer, and went 
on : 

” But one of you working-men may say, ‘ I’m not a game- 
keeper, a policeman, or a soldier. How, then, can I be to 
blame for the condition of myself and my class ? ’ I’ll show 
you. You’re employed in a big foundry or a pit, or maybe 
on the railway. How is that big concern carried on ? Not 
by the owners, for those owners are a lot of idle shareholders, 
ladies many of them, who know nothing at all about the busi- 
ness. What do they do ? They appoint a manager who 
does know something about it, and he appoints under-managers 
and foremen and gaffers of all kinds, and it’s these men that 
drive on the workers and wring the profits out of them. 
And all this crew of managers and sub-managers and gaffers 
and foremen were at one time working-men themselves, and 
for the sake of a little bigger pay and a little better position 
have betrayed their class and become the masters’ tools.” 

A big man, his red face like to burst with rage, could keep 
silent no longer. ‘’I’m damned if that should be allowed,” 
he shouted ; “I never listened to such treason in my life. 
The authorities should put it down ; the scoundrel should be 
transported.” The outburst excited a good deal of merri- 
ment, and called forth such sallies as ‘‘He’s hittin’ ye ower 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


383 


sair, Tammas,” “ Ye’ll hae to throw up yer job, Tammas.” 
I learned afterwards the secret of the good man’s indignation: 
he was a foreman in a big carting establishment. Once he 
was silent, smothered under the ironical sympathy of his 
neighbours, I proceeded : 

“You tell me that you are not a manager or a foreman or 
a gaffer. No ; because you never had the chance. The 
masters know — and it’s this that gives them their power — 
they know that, if they wanted a slave-driver on Monday 
morning, there’s not one man in ten of us but would jump 
at the job. 

“ Now,’’ I continued, “ there are some women listening 
to me. I want to show you women that you are keeping 
yourselves down by the very same conduct. You are em- 
ployed in a big warehouse making fine dresses which your 
master sells at a high profit to rich ladies. You have to tear 
on at the needle or the machine for ten hours at least every 
day ; you can’t afford fine dresses ; your weekly wage is a 
few shillings, that will hardly keep you in the plainest food 
and the commonest clothes. It’s surely unfair that the girls 
who do the work and make the profits of the warehouse 
should be so cruelly driven and so poorly paid ! How does 
it happen ? In this way. Your employer, the man who 
owns the warehouse, takes very little to do with you and is 
seldom seen in the workroom. He manages the business 
by this plan. He looks about among you girls, he chooses 
one that seems well fitted for the post, he gives her a rise of 
pay and sets her over the workroom. That girl bullies you, 
drives you on without mercy, takes the last ha ’pennyworth 
of work out of your needles. And any one girl in the work- 
room that the master had pitched on would have gladly taken 
the post. It’s as clear as daylight, then, that, both with 
women and with men, we working people are keeping our- 
selves and our fellow-workers down.” 

At this point a powerfully-built, swarthy-looking man — 
a working-blacksmith I found him to be — took advantage of 
the pause I made to ask, 

“ I wish you would tell us, Mr. Bryce, what a man is to do 
that has a wife and family. Is he not justified in considering 
them ? ” 

The question was evidently prompted by genuine feeling ; 
it appealed to me, too, on its own merits, and, contrary to 


384 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


my practice, I tried to answer it, though I still addressed the 
audience, not the individual questioner. 

“ When I give you this advice, when I tell you never to 
take a position that will set you above another worker, Tm 
not giving you advice that will bring you or your wife and 
family to starvation. I’m merely telling you to remain as 
you are, to continue a common worker, and to refuse the few 
shillings — the few pounds, if you like — with which your 
masters would bribe you and make you their tool. That 
means a certain sacrifice, I admit. But are you not pre- 
pared to make some sacrifice for your own and your fellows’ 
deliverance ? You are loud in praise of martyrs who laid 
down their lives long ago for this cause or that, usually for 
something you know little about. Yet you haggle at losing, 
not your life, not even your livelihood, but an extra shilling 
or two on your week’s pay ! And at making this petty sacri- 
fice for a cause that deserves your best blood ! If you stick 
at that you’ll never be free, and, what’s more, you’ll never 
deserve your freedom.” 

I had been led into a little rhetoric ; however, it was genuine 
enough and my audience recognised this, for they responded 
with a cheer, the first that had ever greeted word of mine. 
It was in my usual matter-of-fact tone that I ended : 

“ At any rate, you can’t say that you haven’t been told the 
secret. You’ve been told how to free yourselves and your 
class. Keep to the level ! Accept no post like that of manager 
or foreman that will set you above your fellow-workers and 
make you drive them on ; no post like that of soldier or 
policeman that will make you coerce them in the interest of 
the rich. Keep to the level ! And there’s not an estate in 
the country, not a factory or a foundry, not a mill or a mine, 
a railway, a shipyard, or any industrial establishment what- 
ever that could be conducted on its present lines for one day. 
The masters’ power would be gone, and the way would be 
open for the people to go in and take possession.” 

Among those who spoke to me afterwards, as Kenneth and 
I sauntered through the streets, was a youth somewhat like 
myself for age, Irish and a Catholic. Devine was his name. 
He was a moulder to trade and belonged to Fallowkirk ; 
he had only been about Craigkenneth a few weeks. This 
youth, a devout believer in the Social Democratic Federation, 
whatever that may be, was familiar with the Socialist move- 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


3S5 

ment not only at home but on the Continent and in America, 
gave me a pamphlet by Jaures and asked if I had read the 
late speech of Bebel in the German Reichstag. He had 
two strictures to pass on my remarks. 

“You made out the army to be the weapon of the rich/' 
he said. “So it is at present. But it never seems to have 
occurred to you that the army may become SociaUstic and 
be perhaps the instrument for establishing a SociaUstic 
state." 

“ No," I admitted, in some surprise, “ certainly that never 
did occur to me. Soldiers will always obey their officers, 
and the officers all belong to the privileged class. The whole 
training of a soldier is meant to make him an unthinking tool 
in the hands of his superiors." 

“ Ay, but it doesn’t, at least with the intelligent ones, though 
of course they are commoner in a continental army than here 
where conscription isn’t in force. I’ve a friend in Fallowkirk, 
Herr Plitt — he had to clear out of Germany because he was 
speaking his mind too freely — well, he tells me that the German 
army is a hotbed of Socialism. The German army ! The 
army that’s usually thought to be the strongest weapon that 
the despots have ! Herr Plitt declares that young fellows 
who go up from country districts become Socialists in no 
time, and, when their term of service is out, they go back to 
the country and spread Socialism there. He says that 
Germany is the most Socialistic country in the world, and 
the army is the most Socialistic body in Germany." 

I laughed rather incredulously. 

“ If that’s so," I said, “ the poor Kaiser is leaning on a 
broken reed. I don’t believe your friend, all the same." 

“ I believe him, though, and here’s a proof that he knows 
what he’s talking about. You mind the big Labour riots in 
Alsace last year ? Well, why weren’t the troops called out 
to put down the riots ? Because the authorities couldn’t 
trust them ; they couldn’t be sure that the soldiers would 
obey when they were ordered to fire." 

This I could not answer ; I had no information, and could 
only reason from what was likely. In his other criticism 
Devine had not all the argument to himself. 

“ When you’re speaking," he said, “ you give your own 
opinion, you say that things ought to be so-and-so. That’s 
right enough ; only, you ought to back it up with authorities. 

cc 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


3^6 

That’s what tells with an audience. You should give Giffen’s 
figures about the average wage of the workers ; you should 
mention the total income of the country, and what proportion 
goes into a few hands. When you were on the land-question, 
now, you had a fine chance of bringing the abuses of the 
system home to them ; you might have told them on the 
authority of John Bright that half of Scotland belongs to a 
dozen landlords. Your speeches would have far more weight 
if you gave plenty of authorities. If I were you, I’d quote 
the Social Reform leaders often ; I’d say, ‘ Karl Marx, the 
famous German writer, says so-and-so,’ or ‘ Listen to what 
Dr. Alfred Russell Wallace says on this.’ You know all those 
men well enough.” 

“ No,” I said, ” I don’t.” 

“ Oh yes, you do ; although you don’t show it off.” 

” No,” I repeated, ” I haven’t read a great deal in that 
line ; indeed, some of those writers are merely names to me. 
But even if I had them all off, I wouldn’t quote them. What 
I want people to do, and what I think they need most to do, 
is to look at things with their own eyes. They don’t need 
Russell Wallace to tell them that one man has no right to 
own all the land in a parish.” 

” No ; but Russell Wallace shows how the land-system 
originated, and how the land has been grabbed at particular 
times.” 

” It doesn’t matter how or when the land was grabbed ; 
the people, if they will only think, will know that one man 
had no right to grab it. I’m convinced, even, that this 
quoting of authorities does more harm than good.” 

” I don’t see that.” 

” It does in this way : it leads people to believe that Social 
Reform is a very intricate question, and that a person isn’t 
entitled to have any opinion on it till he has gone into all the 
literature of the subject ; in fact, that the ordinary person 
isn’t qualified to have an opinion on it at all : he should take 
the opinion of experts. Is the common man never to get 
thinking for himself ? At one time he had to believe what 
the Bible said, or rather what the priests, who had time and 
learning to study it, told him that it said.” I did not know 
at this time that Devine was a devout Catholic, and he told 
me afterwards that the reference hurt him. ” Now,” I con- 
tinued, ” the books of Marx and Wallace and the rest of them 


THE STORY OE A PLOUGHBOY 387 

are to be our Bible, and the Labour leaders who have studied 
those books, or at least quote the titles, are to be our priests. 
That’s just as bad. What can those writers, or the fellows 
that profess to interpret them, know about what’s fair and 
reasonable that an intelligent workman doesn’t know ? In 
fact, I would back the workman against them any day, pro- 
vided he used his own brains and wasn’t misled by authority ; 
for he has had to do with real things all his life ; the other 
fellows have never been in touch with reality : they have 
lived among figures and theories.” 

While we differed on those points, I was interested in the 
Irish lad. Wonderful how, with his poor chances, his educa- 
tion, on one line at least, had gone so far ! I was not aware 
at the time of the curious contradiction in his life — the ardent 
reformer being also a devout son of the Church. But ere we 
parted that night I found that in another way he afforded 
an instance of the ghastly contrasts that meet nowadays in 
the same individual. He mentioned that he had heard me 
speak the first night, and had been very anxious to make my 
acquaintance. He had ascertained that I was staying at 
the Well, and he would have liked to come out on the Sunday 
and have a talk with me. 

“I’d have been pleased to see you,” I assured him. 

“Yes, I know ; but, to tell you the plain truth, I had no 
Sunday clothes, and I didn’t like to be visiting people on a 
Sunday in my working things. I was a long time out of 
work in Fallowkirk and I had to pawn my good clothes. It’s 
only this week that I was able to get them out.” 

As Kenneth and I strolled along the country road that night, 
my friend seemed to be interested, like myself, in the young 
Irishman ; and, while taking my side in the argument, he 
allowed that Devine was “ a bit o’ a thinker,” adding, however, 
“he’s no the finished article yet.” 


388 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XXXIX 

M Y old friends of the strawberry-fields knew by 
this time that I was their neighbour in the 
Wynds, and when we met they welcomed me 
heartily but with evident surprise ; indeed, their 
treatment of me was always an odd mixture of freedom and 
respect. It was about the middle of the week, on the 
Wednesday evening, I think, as I was on my way home and 
had reached the top of Guild Street, that Sarah Doyle, who 
was standing with another girl, danced across to me and, 
linking her arm in mine, accompanied me up the Wynd. 

“ I’ve been looking out for you, Jamie,” she said. ” You’ve 
got to do something for me, and I’ll give you a kiss when 
you’re sleeping.” 

She went on to explain that it was to write a letter for an 
old man who lived on her stair. She pointed out the entry 
and gave me the needed directions. I had not meant to 
come out again that night. The previous day I had got a 
thorough drenching, and I had felt chilled and heavy ever 
since. However, I could not refuse Sarah, and after supper I 
went round to the house. This may be the fitting place to 
give the history of the person who was needing my services. 
My information came to me in scraps from Sarah, from other 
neighbours, and from the old man himself. 

Angus Grant, though now a denizen of the region peopled 
by the Irish race, was a Highlander by blood and birth. 
Long, long ago, in some of the great Highland clearances, 
his parents had been driven south, and all Angus’s life except 
his childhood had been spent about Craigkenneth, where he 
had been mostly employed at the salmon fisheries on the 
Fertha. As a boy he had lived with his parents in the Wynds 
when the Wynds were inhabited by reputable natives ; now, 
an old man and alone, he lived there still. His wife had been 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


389 

a cripple. When only a girl she had broken her leg by falling 
off a swing, but to all appearance had perfectly recovered, and 
in early womanhood had married Angus, with whom she had 
been at school. After marriage the lameness returned and 
she became a cripple, going on crutches. Angus was devoted 
to his lame wife ; when his own work was over he would wash 
out the house, even wash the children’s clothes — took nothing 
a toil if he could spare her. He had a hot temper and a quick 
tongue ; she was mild and prudent, giving the soft answer, 
and for reward seeing her husband calm down and be gentler 
than before. She died, leaving a family of girls, some in 
their teens. They grew to womanhood, married one by one, 
all but the youngest, Jessie, who kept the father’s house. 
Next close to Angus lived Archie Cuthill, a friend from school- 
days. He was in his last illness — ^lay nearly a year, attended 
by his wife and, when duty allowed, by Angus. When he 
died he left his widow three hundred pounds. She kept on 
her house and ere long married Angus, now a man of sixty. 
From the moment she came into Angus’s house she set herself 
against Jessie, and when the father did not at once take her 
side she turned on him. One day, in the course of a wild 
quarrel, old Angus opened the door and threw his wife into 
the street, daring her ever to set foot in his house again. 
This was only a few weeks after the marriage, so short a time, 
indeed, that the woman had not broken up her house. She 
tried to return, but Angus was obdurate ; friends sought to 
reconcile them : in vain. Years passed and the woman 
died, attended only by strangers. The Inspector of Poor came 
to Angus to ask about the funeral arrangements. Up went 
Angus’s hand. 

“I’ll take nothing to do with the bitch whatever.” 

“ But where will we bury her ? ” 

“ Bury her in hell.” 

After the funeral came the inspector again. 

“ There’s money you’re entitled to — three hundred 
pounds.” 

Up went Angus’s hand once more. 

“ I don’t want the money.” 

“ But what ’ll we do with it ? ” 

“ Do with it what you like. I’ll never touch a penny.” 

And he never did. 

Such was the stiffnecked old gentleman that I was now to 


390 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


visit. Sarah was with him, and opened the door when she 
heard me climbing the stair. 

“ You’re right now, daddie,” she said, “ here’s the kipper 
that’ll write you a letter as long as yourself.” 

” And it is kind of you, sir, to help the old man,” said Angus, 
rising from a great highbacked elbow-chair at the fireside. 

His accent was as Highland as though he had never left the 
north. Probably in his boyhood his neighbours had been 
evicted families, like his own. 

Once of fair height, he was now a good deal bent. His hair 
and beard were snow-white, but his cheeks, though wrinkled 
and very worn, kept a patch of healthy colour. He wore no 
moustache, and I could note the firm mouth and protruding 
under-lip. Sarah had warned me, else I should never have 
known, that he was nearly blind. 

” But it's for me he’s doing it as much as you, daddie,” 
said Sarah gaily. ” I’ve promised him something rare.” 

The worn face softened a little ; one could not say smiled. 

“You will be going on with your nonsense. But Sarah 
is a good lass to the old man.” 

“ Well, daddie. I’ve told him you want him to write a letter 
for you. It's to a daughter in Canada, Jamie,” she explained. 
“ She’s been in Canada for a long time — fifteen years, isn’t it, 
daddie ? ” 

“It is sixteen years come March, the twelfth of March, 
since she sailed from Glasgow.” 

“ Oh yes,” I said. “ Well, you’ll just give me an idea of 
what you want said. Am I to answer her last letter ? ” 

“ No, you are not,” said old Angus, “ for I do not get letters 
from her, and I never will get a letter from her.” 

“ Oh ! ” I said, somewhat mystified. “ And what makes 
you think that, may I ask ? ” 

“ I know it,” answered the old man with quiet decision. 

“ But why ? ” 

“ This way. Agnes used to write to me very often, and 
was very mindful of her old father, and the last time she wrote 
to me — and it is five years past in September — she said she 
had a sore wearying to see a sprig of Scottish heather. And 
I sent down to my daughter Flora in Bridge Street, and I got 
Flora’s little girl to lead me out to Barnton House, and I as&d 
to see Colonel Aikman, and when Colonel Aikman came to the 
door I ^sked him if he would give me leave to go out to the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


391 


moor and pull a bit heather, and I told the colonel what it was 
for. And Colonel Aikman gave me leave at once, and we went 
on to the moor, and I got the child to pull a good handful of 
heather. And when we came back to Flora’s house I made up 
the heather in a nice pasteboard box, and I gave it to Flora’s 
man to post, and I gave him a shilling to post it. And he 
came back and gave me fourpence of change and said it was 
eightpence for posting. And he never posted it ; he spent 
the eightpence on drink.” 

” Oh, surely not ! ” I could not help saying. 

It’s as true as death,” affirmed old Angus solemnly. 

” But what makes you think that ? ” 

” Think that ! ” he cried. “Do I not know ? Would 
Agnes have taken a box of heather from her own father and 
never written a word to say she had got it ? ” 

“No. Only it might have gone amissing. It’s a long 
journey, you know, to Canada.” 

“ The heather never saw the post office,” said the old man 
impatiently. “ That scoundrel made away with it and spent 
the eightpence in the public-house.” 

“ But,” I asked, “ have you any other reason for suspecting 
that your son-in-law would do such a thing ? ” 

“ I know it ; I do not suspect it. He is fit for anything.” 

“ Has your daughter not written to anybody else since then ? 
To any of her sisters ? ” 

“ She has. She has written to Flora.” 

“ And does she not let you see — does she not read the letters 
to you ? ” 

“ She does not. She does not let me know that she gets 
letters. She pretends she gets none any more than myself. 
But I know better.” 

“ But what can be her reason for not reading the letters to 
you ? ” 

“ She and her man are afraid that I might jalouse what 
way Agnes does not write to me when she is writing to them. 
And they think it the best way to pretend that she does not 
write to anybody.” 

I thought it likely the old man was altogether mistaken, 
and I might not have done the trifling service without some 
misgiving ; but in a little he added, 

“ And, oh ! I weary to hear from Agnes. I would like 
sore, sore to have a line from her before I go,” 


392 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ Well, the best way would be to write and tell her how 
much you wish to hear from her. No doubt she will answer 
at once if — if she’s all right.” 

” That would be the best way, sir ; ” and his voice showed 
his agitation. ” But I cannot see ” 

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ll be glad to attend to that.” 

Then the old man fairly broke down. 

” Oh, sir ! would you ? ” and the tears gushed from his 
sightless eyes. ” Oh ! if you would do that, I would never 

forget ” But he could say no more for weeping, and I saw 

that Sarah was busy with her eyes as well. 

When old Angus had steadied himself, I asked, 

” Have you still your daughter’s address ? ” 

” I have, and I will get it for you this minute ; ” and, raising 
himself by the help of the chair, he went to a press and brought 
back an old letter with the heading : 

“ 34, Gower St., W., 

Prescott, Grenville Co., 

Ontario.” 

Agnes’s married name was Chisholm. 

” And now, sir,” said old Angus, when I had noted the 
address and the particulars I was to mention, ” I will give you 
the money to pay for the letter, but I will never be able to pay 
for your kindness.” 

I was about to decline with a laugh when Sarah put up her 
hand warningly, and I let the old man go on. 

” It is twopence ha’penny you will pay for the stamp ” 

“ I rather think,” I interrupted, ” that the postage to 
Canada now is only a penny. However, I can let you know 
afterwards.” 

You will do so. And there will be a penny for the paper.” 

Sarah again gave me the warning sign ; so I promised to 
let the old man have the full account when I learned what it 
was. I assured him the letter would be posted that night ere 
I slept, and I came away rather hurriedly, for his gratitude 
threatened to overcome him a second time. Sarah saw me 
to the foot of the stair, but it was less to keep me from tripping, 
as she said, than to bestow the promised fee. 

Neither the service nor the reward did anything to stave 
off the cold that had threatened me. By morning my old 
cough — bronchial catarrh, I had learned to call it — was 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 393 

troublesome. I crawled out and posted a card to Bain, the 
Sparkwell farmer, called at the nearest chemist’s and laid in 
a bottle of the mixture that Sir William had prescribed long 
ago ; then I took to bed, ready to stand the siege. I was too 
dull and heavy to read, even to think ; my appetite was gone — 
a lucky thing, perhaps, for I was spared the trouble of rising 
to prepare food ; and the rain and wind that beat on my 
window, for the weather was stormy, did not lighten my 
spirits. On the Saturday night Kenneth visited me and found 
me in bed. I warned him not to speak of my illness. Sarah, 
I knew, would be willing enough to nurse me, and for both 
our sakes I felt it better that she should not have the chance. 
Kenneth called again on the Sunday, when I was livelier and 
able to interest myself in his theories about the formation of 
lake-basins. Next day I was up for some hours, though feeling 
very shaky, considering the short time I had been ill. I read 
a good deal ; at least, I often had a book in my hand, though 
my thoughts were apt to wander in strange ways of their own. 
Another pastime kept me interested : it was to work at a set 
of verses that I had started during my stay in the strawberry- 
field. The women there had been mostly Irish, and I had 
begun to reflect how much of the heavy and useful labour of 
the world falls to that race. My present surroundings made 
me feel this again. The Wynds were full of Irish navvies, 
who were called on whenever any rough job had to be done. 
I had tried to picture their lot and foreshadow their destiny, 
and by the Thursday evening the piece was so well forward 
that I started writing it out in a fair copy. It was entitled 

PAT. 

Where’er my roving glances range, — 

O’er places known, 

Or distant regions, new and strange, 

The crowded town, 

The street, the country-road, the mart, 

The roaring quay, — 

Now with his fellows, now apart, 

One form I see. 

All quarters are his home — the banks 
Of Tyne and Clyde ; 

Manhattan wharves, where thronged ranks 
Of vessels ride ; 

And ports remote, by inland shore 
And river-mouth, 

Where Parana and Murray pour 
Into the South. 


394 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Small grace he hath or beauty : black 
His brow and grim ; 

But stout his arm and broad his back, 

Supple his limb ; 

And as with lumbering steer or horse 
For burden meant, 

Upon all wearing toils his force 
Is freely spent. 

He lays the track for rushing trains. 

He shapes the log. 

He rears the arched bridge, he drains 
And delves the bog. 

Or down the forest river drifts 
Upon the raft. 

Or quarries deep in rocky clifts. 

Or sinks the shaft. 

And tunnels in earth’s nether glooms 
Where death-mists choke. 

Or feeds the furnace as it fumes 
Its poison-smoke. 

Or keeps, in soldier-habit now 
The rain-filled trench. 

Or, jesting, sees his life-blood flow 
Strange fields to drench. 

What spot 

At this point I heard someone climbing the stair ; the next 
moment there was a knock. I rose and opened the door. The 
stmr-head was almost dark, but the gaslight from my room 
enabled the visitor to recognise me, and a bo)dsh voice said, 

“ Oh, Mr. Bryce, how do you do ? " 

The voice was quite familiar and I should soon have hit 
the name, but the visitor did not leave me time. 

“ I'm Frank Harvey," he said. 

" So you are," I said, with a strange feeling of pleasure, and 
I was drawing him in when a tall figure, that had been con- 
cealed by the bend of the stair, stepped up. I needed no light 
to recognise Nina. 

She held out her hand, perhaps to keep me from attempting 
any more familiar greeting in her cousin's presence. 

" You'll come back for me at nine," she said to the lad, who 
explained to me that he had to go home now and would not 
come in. Nina entered, closing the door behind her. For 
a moment we stood reading each other's eyes ; the next, we 
were in a close embrace. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


395 

“ You’re not well, Jim,” Nina said, eyeing me sharply as 
we sat hand-in-hand by the fire. 

It was only a cold, I told her. 

” Only a cold ! That’s enough, surely ; for you know how 
careful you need to be, Jim. I knew there was something 
wrong,” she went on with emphasis ; “I couldn’t rest, and 
I had to come to satisfy myself. Why have you grown so 
careless about yourself ? ” 

” I’m not careless, Nina,” I assured her. ” I’ve done exactly 
what I was told to do : kept my bed for some days and then 
stayed in the house. And I’m all right again. But how did 
you find me out, dear ? ” I inquired, partly because I was 
curious, partly to escape further lecturing. 

” Uncle Walter told us a while ago that you were at Spark- 
well.” 

“ Yes ; but who told you I had left Sparkwell and come 
here ? ” 

” Well,” she said, with a laugh, ” I wrote to the Sparkwell 
postmaster and asked your address.” 

” That’s not answering my question, Nina,” I persisted. 
” How did you know I had left Sparkwell ? ” 

” Never mind. I knew anyway, and I’ve found you out. 
That's all you need ” 

” I could tell you how you knew,” I said. “You saw me 
in Craigkenneth ” 

“ Never you mind, Jim. Listen you to me. Why have you 
grown so careless about yourself ? ” 

“ Why, dear ! haven’t I told you that I’ve been doing every- 
thing I was ordered — ^staying in bed, staying indoors, and 
what not ? ” 

“ It’s not that only, Jim. Why have you become so 
untidy ? ” 

“ An invalid has an excuse, surely, for ” 

“ I don’t mean just now, Jim. But when you’re outside 
of an evening. Your boots aren’t brushed ; you wear an old 
torn jacket.” 

“ How do you know, Nina ? ” 

“ I know ; that’s enough.” 

“ You know, because you saw me.” 

“ Well, what if I did ? ” 

“ But, Nina, how could you see me when you didn’t look 
at me ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


396 

“ I saw that much, at any rate, Jim ; you were a perfect 
fright.” 

” I had been at work, Nina.” 

“You weren’t working at half-past eight at night. You 
were strolling about the streets, and you hadn’t taken the 
trouble to tidy yourself after supper. Now, here’s what I 
want to say to you, Jim,” she went on earnestly ; ” you may 
please yourself about the work you do and even the place you 
stay in, but there’s no reason why you should fall into untidy 
ways ” 

I was about to make a bantering protest, but she went on 
in a tone that was almost tearful, 

” and go about in old, torn, muddy clothes and look 

as if you belonged to nobody. I can’t bear it, Jim.” 

To be truthful, I had not once thought of this ; I had been 
concerned with things which I should have called more im- 
portant. Nina’s earnestness forced me to attend to her 
reproaches, and I had to acknowledge to myself that they 
were deserved. I acknowledged it to her as well, and faith- 
fully promised to change my ways. 

” Do you never have your bed made ? ” she then began. 

” Sometimes ; not every day. I’m afraid,” I admitted 
rather haltingly. 

She had risen, and was soon busy with the neglected duty. 

” The bed-clothes are nice enough,” she admitted, ” but 
that’s because they’re new. Ah ! there’s a flea, though. 
I’ve caught it, too, ” she added in a satisfied tone. 

I jumped up. ” Don’t ! don’t kill it, Nina.” 

She looked at me in amazement. 

” Don’t ! ” I repeated, catching her arm. ” I never take 
the life of any creature. Please, Nina ! ” I entreated, as her 
surprise gave way to impatience ; “I couldn’t be happy if I 
saw any living thing being destroyed.” 

” Nonsense, Jim ! they’re meant to be killed.” 

” I couldn’t be the means of killing them, anyway.” 

” What would you do with it ? ” she asked in a less im- 
patient tone, though she still kept her thumb pressed tight 
against her mid-finger. 

” Drop it out at the window ; ” and I held up the low sash. 

” But it’ll go on other people.” 

” Perhaps not. Anyhow, we’ve got rid of it without killing 
it, and that’s a great deal,” 


The story of a ploughboy 


397 

Well, you are ridiculous, Jim,” she declared, though I 
could see that, while still a little puzzled, she was pleased 
with my action. As for myself, the incident left with me a 
sense of tenderness and joy which I should vainly try to explain 
to others. 

“ Now, about yourself, dear,” I said, ” are you staying 
with your aunt here ? ” 

” Yes ; I came through this morning. Mamma knew 
quite well why I was coming, I could see. Indeed, if she had 
asked, I should have told her.” 

We were again sitting by each other hand-in-hand. 

” Do you know, Jim,” she said in a little, ” I’m leaving 
home ? ” 

I did not speak for a while. 

” Are you going back to music ? ” I asked at length. 

She nodded. 

” Going back to Leipsic ? ” I inquired. 

” No ; only to London. I’ll stay with the Lobsteins. 
Herr Lobstein has been there all this year, and some of his 
pupils have been very successful. I mean to work hard with 
him this winter, and I may get an engagement in spring.” I 
was silent, and, with her old skill in reading my thoughts 
on superficial matters, she said, “You don’t approve, Jim ? ” 

“ I don’t know much about the ways of singers,” I said ; 
“ in fact, I don’t know anything except by hearsay.” 

“ There’ll be all sorts of people among them just as among 
other classes. Mamma believes everything she hears against 
them, but that’s ridiculous. And, at any rate. I’m going into 
the work for love of it, and that’ll keep me right.” 

The mention of her mother reminded me that I had not 
yet inquired for her people. Nina was busy telling me about 
them all when we were interrupted by a knock at the door. 

“ That can never be Frank already,” I remarked, a little 
apprehensively. 

“ He wasn’t to come for fully an hour yet,” Nina said, 
looking her watch. 

I opened the door. A young lad was on the stairhead, but 
even in the bad light I knew it was not Nina’s cousin. 

“ Auld Angus sent me up to see ye,” the boy began. 

“ Oh yes. What was it ? ” 

“ He wants to ken hoo much the stamp was for the letter. 
He says ye promised to tell him.” 


39 ^ 


THE STORY OF A RLOUGHBOY 


So I did,” I said, feeling a little amused. “ Well, you can 
say that I haven’t been — I haven't been round his way since^ 
but I’ll call some day soon and let him know.” 

The lad promised, and with a word of thanks I bade him 
good-night. 

On returning to Nina’s side I was aware of a change. Her 
hand, though she allowed me to take it, had lost its warmth ; 
her tone, while she answered my questions about little Tib 
and Guy and Norah, was as cold as her touch. My tender- 
ness for the girl taught me, more surely than her own con- 
fession would have done, what had wrought the change. 
It was the thought that I was forming new interests, interests 
in which she had no share ; it was the woman’s dread of being 
left out of the loved one’s life, of not being taken with him. 
I thought it best not to remark on her coldness. But I began 
to tell her, as simply and naturally as I could, something of 
old Angus’s history and character. She was soon interested, 
and whether or no she understood my purpose in telling her — 
I am assured in my own heart she did — her coldness passed 
away and her manner grew tenderer than it had been at the 
first. 

By the time I had satisfied myself about my old Aletown 
friends it wanted only twenty minutes of the hour set for 
Frank’s return. 

” Nina,” I said, ” there’s a thing I want you to do for 
me.” 

” Yes, Jim ; ” and she smiled. 

” Do it, then, dear.” 

” You haven’t told me what it is.” 

“You know already, dear.” 

” Perhaps I’m mistaken. You had better tell me.” 

” I want you to sing. Is that what you thought ? ” 

She nodded. 

” Will you, dear ? ” I asked. 

” Of course. What would you like ? ” 

“I’ll leave the choice to you.” 

Nina rose, and I gave a laugh, remembering how she never 
cared to sing except when standing, never cared even to 
accompany herself. She lost no time in making her selection, 
for almost before I could conjecture what it might be, she 
began the sweet song that had made us lovers long ago. 

It was a choice I dared not have made. The song was so 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


399 

charged with tender memories ! still more, it voiced, by an 
odd chance, the feeling that possessed us now. Certainly — 
though my illness may merit some of the blame — its power 
was too great for me. “ Since Lubin is away — is away — is 
away ’ — the catch was at my throat ; I had to seek relief 
as of old. 

Yet in the stress of my own emotion I admired how the born 
singer, while athrill with passion, was lifted by her art above 
all personal concernment ; she was uttering the cry of all 
lorn maidens, and in the wide wail her own plaint was lost 
like a raindrop in the sea. 

She had not looked at me while she was singing, and it was 
only when we were side by side again that she could notice 
my agitation. She did not speak of it and we sat silent a 
while, for I could not trust my voice. When I was master 
of myself and could thank her, I assured her that her old 
master would find her singing had lost nothing since he heard 
it last. 

She had been practising pretty hard of late, she explained. 

When do you go south, Nina ? I asked her. “ Have you 
arranged the time yet ? ” 

“Yes, at the end of this month, “ she was beginning, when 
suddenly, without a sign of warning, she burst into tears, 
and throwing her arms about me sobbed unrestrainedly. I 
tried to soothe her with tender words and caresses, and, as 
had always happened, the passion, wild while it lasted, was 
soon spent. When she was calm enough to speak she said, still 
keeping her face hidden on my breast, 

“ I wish, Jim, you didn’t stay here. I don’t like to go 
away and think of you being in such a place.’’ 

“ Well, dear. I’ve been feeling myself that it will scarcely 
suit me. It doesn’t give me the fresh air I need, for one 
thing. I’ve only taken it by the month, and I can leave at 
any time.’’ 

“ I wish you would, Jim. And you’ll try to get a place 
where you’ll be healthier and more comfortable ? ’’ 

I was reassuring her when a tap sounded on the door and 
Frank came in to take her away. It was not easy to part, 
but she had had her cry over — ^so, indeed, had I — and there 
was no risk of a second breakdown. She let her cousin 
go out before her, and as we were taking good-bye she 
whispered, 


400 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ You’ll need a little money, Jim, if you’re to have a decenter 
place to stay in, and you won’t have any. I’ve got plenty, 
and if I send you some, Jim, you won’t send it back ? Please, 
dear,” she pleaded. 

But I assured her I had money in the bank, and to satisfy 
her mentioned how much. Then we kissed and said good- 
bye ; but, after we had parted, a fond impulse brought us 
together again, and we stood in each other’s arms a long 
while. 

The room looked rather desolate as I threw myself into the 
chair Nina had occupied. I gazed long into the glowing fire, 
where doubtless many a man and maid before me of high and 
low degree had seen reflected their own joy and sadness. My 
thoughts dwelt less, perhaps, on what had passed between 
us two than on what had been left unspoken. There was a 
change in my poor sweetheart. Her face, so round and bab5dsh 
before, was thinner, and at times, especially when we were 
sitting silent, had a thoughtful, even sad, expression it never 
used to wear. It was my punishment for the worldliness of 
my past life to see th^ change and to know I was the cause. 
Poor Nina ! I thought, too, with tender pity and with some 
misgiving as well, of the girl away from home and from loved 
ones, struggling among strangers and rivals, in surroundings, 
too, that would have much that was repellent and not a little, 
perhaps, that was evil and dangerous. That reflection, too, 
was part of my punishment. These rather dowie thoughts held 
held me a long time, but I shook myself up at last. I tried 
to hope well for my brave sweetheart : change might be her 
best restorative, and her devotion to her art would be the 
charm to keep her safe. For myself, I did not for an instant 
repent of my great change. It was my old self that had 
wrought the entanglements which made me suffer now, and 
while I accepted the punishment for the past I knew that my 
feet were at last in the true way. I rose and stood at the 
window, looking down into the broad, dimly-lighted street. 
Figures were but ill discerned, but I could hear the voices of 
men and women and the noise of children at play. It recalled 
me to the living interests in which I was now partaker. As 
I turned from the window my eye fell on the verses I had been 
copying when Nina came in, and, shaking off gloomy appre- 
hensions and pensive memories alike, I drew my chair to the 
little table and proceeded to make an end of 


401 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 

PAT. 

' — beneath the rolling sun 
Knows not his toils ? 

From every region he hath won 
Its golden spoils. 

An uncouth Atlas, lo ! he stands : 

His woeful lot 

To bear the world upon his hands, — 

And know it not. 

And know it not ! for crafty men 
Have wrought a tomb 

About his spirit, black as when 
The night doth gloom. 

And wisely, certes, they begrudge 
The boon of light. 

In fear to lose their stubborn drudge. 

Their Gibeonite. 

Methinks I note a random hint 
That wakened sense 

Perceives the answering dawn-light glint 
Through darkness dense ; 

And long ere noonday shall he know 
A tyrant knave 

In each fair-spoken lord, and lo ! 

Himself a slave. 

And when beneath the unwieldy lands 
No more he’ll stoop 

With broadened shoulders, outspread hands. 
To bear them up, — 

The kingdoms of the earth, that flush 
In grandeur sit. 

Shall shift, shall rock, shall headlong rush 
Into the pit. 


DD 


402 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XL 

B y the Monday of the next week I was hardened off. 

Work, too, was ready for me. Bain, who would 
know my history by now and had, I suspect, a certain 
kindness for me, had sent a message by Kenneth 
that I might have part of his turnips to shaw. The rate 
we agreed on was three ha’pence per hundred yards for the 
yellows and twopence for swedes. I had a fellow-worker, an 
elderly man from Craigkenneth, Geordie Balloch. I shall 
say something about him here, for, as has often been my 
experience, our short and casual relationship left a deep mark 
on my life. 

Geordie had been bred to the plough, had afterwards been 
a pit-sinker, and for many, many years a quarryman. Others 
have told me, for he was no boaster himself, that till disabled 
by asthma he had been both a skilful and an indefatigable 
worker. At week-ends his earnings were regularly melted 
in drink, and his wife could take glass about. Geordie him- 
self told me the very first day we were together that if he 
had had all the money he had spent on whisky he would have 
been independent that day. He was still a fme-looking man, 
of tall, indeed stately, presence, well-featured and fresh- 
coloured. But for his shortness of breath he could have done 
a day’s work yet with any labourer. 

Bain occasionally turned all his hands on to the turnips 
when there was nothing else to do, and the whole field was 
cleared by the Friday afternoon. Our lots were duly measured, 
and when we went into the farm-kitchen to reckon up our 
earnings, Bain gave us an agreeable surprise by telling us 
that he meant to pay twopence overhead. He was the only 
farmer I had ever known who paid more than he promised ; 
Geordie, whose experience of country fife was so much longer 
than mine, made the same admission. We got our money 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


403 


and came off much elated. By the time we entered Craig- 
kenneth the short day had darkened. Geordie stayed in a 
rookery near the river ; he pointed out the house, but to my 
surprise accompanied me further up the street. 

“ We’ll go in here, Jamie ; ” and he headed across to a 
unpretending public-house. 

I excused myself, said I should go right on. 

“ Come on, man,” he urged ; “ weVe had a cauld job and 
it’s a cauld nicht. We’ll be a’ the better o’ something to 
warm us up.” 

I still held back. 

” Come on, man ; ” and he caught my arm. ” I wad like 
to stand ye a glass. We’ve been guid neebours, and it’s hard 
to say if we may ever work thegither again.” 

The appeal settled me and I accompanied him into the bar. 
The publican himself was behind the counter — a short, grey- 
bearded man, most respectable in dress and look, and, as I 
afterwards found from his talk, an intelligent, indeed an alto- 
gether superior, person. But what made that public-house 
visit memorable to me was the thing that happened on ^ur 
entrance. As soon as we had passed the time of day and 
before a word was said about ordering drink, old Geordie threw 
down a half-sovereign of his earnings on the counter and said, 

” Mak’ yersel’ richt oot o’ that.” 

The publican, after referring to a little pocket-book, drew 
the half-sovereign into the till and handed Geordie back some 
silver and copper. Geordie then asked what I would have, 
and the drinks were called for. 

I had long known that some publicans made a practice of 
giving drink on credit. This was the first time I had seen 
proof. Why it affected me so keenly I cannot quite explain. 
Perhaps it was because I knew with what hardships Geordie 
had earned the money that now cleared his score. Or it may 
have been the thought of our comfortable-looking, respectable, 
superior host encouraging, at least, allowing poor old Geordie, 
to run up such a score. Anyway, the thing so sickened me 
that I felt like never entering a bar or touching strong drink 
more. The feehng, on reflection, passed into a resolve which 
I have kept pretty faithfully, which too, like some already 
spoken of, has brought me many a glad thought and not one 
regret. 

My acquaintance with the Wynds had shown me that the 


404 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


misery there was aggravated by drink. I had only to recall 
my bothy days to know that the same was true of country 
life. So on the Saturday night, when I took my place at the 
Steeple, this was the cry I raised, 

“ Working men and Working- women ! I want to speak 
to-night about a thing that has a great deal to do with keeping 
us down : that is, drink.” 

A good many of my regular hearers had been gathering 
about the Steeple from the time I appeared ; as soon as I 
moved into the street, they made a ring, so that an audience 
was found ere I began to speak. A young fellow, little and 
slight, black-haired and sallow-skinned, who had been moving 
here and there very unsteadily, now sat down on the kerb 
at my right hand. I might have used him as a living illus- 
tration for my discourse ; only I had soon reason to suspect 
that he was not so drunk as he looked. I proceeded : 

” There are many ways of looking at this subject of drink ; 
I mean to look at it only as it affects us working-people.” 
(” Oh, he’s one of the working-people ! ” remarked the young 
fellow as if to himself, though in a voice that could be heard 
by the audience). ” They say we working-people drink too 
much.” (” We working-people ! ” chortled my neighbour 
sarcastically.) ” But why do we drink ? What makes anybody 
drink ? In an old book that’s said to have been written by 
Solomon there’s a passage that tells the secret.” (” Oh, I 
thought he didn’t believe the Bible ! ”) ” But I’ll give you 

it in the words of one that you’ll believe more readily even 
than Solomon ; I’ll give you it in the words of Robert Burns. 
Here’s how Burns puts it : 

“ * Gie him strong drink, until he wink, 

That’s sinking in despair ; 

And liquor guid to fire his bluid 
That’s prest wi’ grief and care. 

There let him bouse and deep carouse 
Wi’ bumpers flowing o’er, 

Till he forgets his loves and debts, 

And minds his griefs no more.’ 

Till he forgets ! There's what drink does for a man : 
it makes him forget.” 

Here a young fellow, a mechanic, pretty drunk — he had 
accosted me one Saturday before and expressed disapproval 
of my teaching— stalked into the ring and with most dramatic 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


405 


tone and gesture, exclaimed, “ Mr. Bryce ! this must cease.'" 
The audience only laughed, and he stalked away without 
other word. 

“ People sometimes wonder,” I continued, “ why a tramp, 
a beggar on the road, will spend the coppers he gets in drink. 
Wouldn’t he be far better to buy food ? Yes ; but think of 
the life he has to lead. No natural work to do, no home, no- 
body to care for, nobody to care for him, getting doors slammed 
in his face, hunted by the police ” (“ Hunted by the police ! ” 
repeated my friend on the kerb ; “so should somebody 
else”), “ lying out at nights behind a stack — can you wonder 
if, when he is master of a copper or two, he should spend them 
on something that will make him forget the degradation and 
misery of his life ? Bread might fill his belly ; but it wouldn't 
do what the whisky does : it wouldn’t make him forget. 
It’s the same with us working-people.” The fellow on the 
kerb again chortled “ Us working-people ! ” and there was 
an incident of greater moment. Two policemen forced their 
way through the ring at my left hand and came to my side, 
as if they wished to address me. When they did not speak, 
I went on, 

“ Think of the navvy standing all day in a wet drain working 
away with his pick and shovel ” (“ Pick and shovel ! He 
knows a lot about pick and shovel ! ” remarked my friend on 
the kerb) “ while a ganger stands over him swearing. Is it 
surprising ” 

Here one of the policemen, a sergeant, stepping yet closer 
to me, said, 

“ You can’t go on speaking here.” 

So surprised was I that I could not at first open my mouth. 

“ I can’t go on speaking here ! ” I said at length. 

“ No ; we have orders that you are to stop speaking.” 

“ How’s that ? ” I asked. 

“ There have been complaints, and you’re not to speak 
here.” 

The crowd had closed in to have the benefit of the dialogue, 
and one young man, a regular hearer, came to my side. 

“ Have you anything to say ? ” said the sergeant, eyeing 
him impudently. 

“ No ; but I want to hear,” the young man replied. 

“Do you mean,” I inquired, “that it’s only at this place 
I’m not to speak ? ” 


4o6 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ WeVe orders that you’re not to speak. We can’t have 
the street obstructed.” 

” Have you any orders about other people ? I’ve seen all 
sorts of people speaking here. Have you any orders about 
them ? ” 

” We’ll stop them if they obstruct the street.” 

” But I’m not obstructing the street. There’s plenty of 
room for people to pass.” 

” We can’t have such a crowd here. You must move out 
of this.” 

” What about the Salvation Army ? They block the top 
of Market Street entirely.” 

” They’re not there now,” said the policeman shortly. 
He had out his note-book by this time and asked my name 
and address, which in the flurry I was simple enough to give. 

” Well,” I said at last, ” I’ll have to decide for myself about 
speaking or not speaking,” and I moved away. The police- 
man merely gave a contemptuous smile for reply. 

Thinking over the incident, I felt anything but satisfied 
with my behaviour. It was my temperament that was to 
blame. I am a slow coach, and of no use when a rapid 
decision is called for. So well was I aware of the failing that in 
my factor days, when any proposition was sprung on me, I 
made it a rule to answer, “ I’ll think over it and let you know 
in a day or two.” True, this rule would have helped me little 
in my Saturday night’s predicament, policemen being gentry 
who do not usually give you a day or two to think things 
over. I might, certainly, have kept on speaking, as voices 
in the crowd encouraged me to do, and have faced the con- 
sequences, At times I regretted I had not. Most of all, I 
reproached myself for giving my name and address. Why 
should a person, because he happens to wear uniform, have 
the right to make that insolent inquisition ? I began to ask. 
If I had kept my wits, I should have met it with a counter- 
demand : ” Yes, I’ll be quite pleased to tell you, but only 

after you have given me that information about yourself. 
Who are you ? What’s your name ? ” 

Of course, the excuse which the police had alleged for inter- 
fering with me was a sham. I had caused no obstruction, 
none at least that scores of street orators had not caused with 
impunity. My one offence was that I spoke the bitter truth. 
For that the authorities had determined to crush me, and the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


407 


police were glad to be their tools because I spoke the truth 
about them. Yes ; the quacks who stuffed the people 
with lies and superstitions about body and soul might roar 
themselves hoarse ; if a man spoke a word of truth, he was 
choked off. 

I did not mean to submit. Not once had I that thought. 
Only, I did not as yet see how I could resist effectively, and of 
the suggestions with which my street acquaintances were so 
liberal none was satisfactory. The next Saturday night came 
and I made no attempt to speak, for I was still waiting for 
light ; when it did break it was in the last quarter I should 
have looked to. 

One day I had been kept from working by heavy rain. It 
faired at night, and to breathe the fresh air after the day’s 
imprisonment I strolled out and, letting my feet choose their 
own course, I found myself ere long at the bridge. As I 
stood resting my arms on the low parapet on the north side, 
I could see the track left by the bridge-lamp on the brimming 
river ; I could hear the splash and gurgle in the piers beneath 
me, though my thoughts, I can remember, were far enough 
away. Such as they were, I was not suffered to indulge them. 
I soon became aware that a policeman whom I had passed on 
the quiet street some minutes before had followed me, and 
was now with measured and, as seemed to me, lordly tread 
bearing down upon me. My temper caught fire as I surmised 
some new pretext for molestation. 

“ That’s a better night now,” he said, halting at my side. 

After a single glance round on hearing his approach, I had 
resumed my contemplation of the river, and to his remark, 
which was made in a friendly, even hearty tone, I gave no 
answer by word or sign. 

“ Man, the water’s heavy,” he went on, not heeding my 
churlishness ; ” they must have had it as bad up the country.” 

I turned and fronted him. The policeman was a youngish 
fellow and had only one stripe on his sleeve. He was known 
to me by sight. It was evident he had no thought of perse- 
cuting me, and I replied with some civil remark. He talked 
on for a little about the wild weather, and told of having 
been out that forenoon when the rain was at its worst. 

“ This is not a great job sometimes,” he said, ” though you 
seem to think we’re too well off, Mr. Bryce ; ” and he gave a 
laugh. “ What makes you so hard on the policemen ? ” 


4o8 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


By now my suspicions were gone ; I even understood why 
he had started the talk. So I spoke to him frankly, explaining 
that I looked on the police as merely the tools of the rich, and 
that I should rather see them in some useful calling. 

“ That’s right enough, Mr. Bryce,” he admitted ; ” but 
what’s a fellow to do ? I joined the force without really 
knowing what I was in for. You see, I was fond of athletics, 
and I knew that in the force I would get time to follow it 
out, and would even be encouraged. Then I got married 
and was into a family in no time. What am I to do now ? 
I have five-and-twenty shillings a week and uniform, and 
am sure of a pension. I wouldn’t have that at any other job, 
for after you’re in the force a while your muscles get soft for 
want of work, and you couldn’t do a good day’s work ; in 
fact, nobody would have you.” 

I acknowledged the difficulty. 

” You must just follow your conscience,” I told him. ” If 
the day comes when you feel strongly enough that you must 
give up this way of living, you’ll give it up and risk the con- 
sequences.” 

We chatted about this and that, and I asked, 

” Is that the reason I’ve been stopped from speaking — 
because I run down the police ? ” 

” Oh, well,” he began with a laugh ; then checking himself, 
” there have been complaints, right enough. Some of the 
shopkeepers complained, and other folk as well.” 

” But you know as well as I do that all sorts have been 
speaking at the Steeple and other places. Why not stop 
them ? ” 

” Well, you see, the rule is that we only interfere if there 
are complaints. I suppose nobody has complained about the 
other speakers or about the Army.” 

Other remarks passed, and at last he said, 

” If I were you, Mr. Bryce, I would try some other place. 
There’s the bottom corner of Water Street now ; that’s a fine 
open space, and you would be obstructing nobody.” 

” It’s rather out of the way,” I objected after a little con- 
sideration, ” and the people that do pass usually keep the 
other side. I’m afraid I couldn’t gather a crowd.” 

“It would be worth trying. I doubt it’s only in some place 
like Water Street that you’ll be allowed.” 

We parted good friends ; indeed, he convoyed me to the 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


409 


end of his beat. As I strolled up the hill alone, thinking of 
our talk and of many things besides, a plan suddenly formed 
in my mind, and I resolved to make trial of it the next Saturday 
night. 

I was now growing familiar with the Old Town, and was 
trying to classify its inhabitants. A stranger visiting it on 
a Saturday night would pronounce it a huge den of prostitu- 
tion. My sojourn in the strawberry-field saved me from this 
mistake. Plenty of the traffic went on ; that could not be 
denied ; but most of the females in the Wynds earned a living 
by work, and that of the hardest. Their talk was shameless ; 
it had shocked me at our first acquaintance, and led me to 
adopt false notions about their character ; later intercourse 
taught me that they were not destitute of moral standards. 
The girls were scandalised if a companion became a mother 
without being a wife ; the women talked if one of their number 
seemed too free in her behaviour to men. This of itself dis- 
tinguished the girls from females of the unfortunate class : 
they all looked forward to being married, and a fair proportion 
had their hopes fulfilled. They mostly affected youths of 
the corner-boy sort ; soldiers, many of whom were sprung 
from the Wynds, were also favourites. 

The mention of corner-boys leads me to speak of the male 
population. To set them down as mostly loafers would again 
be a mistake. All the heavy work of Craigkenneth and the 
surrounding country was done by the Wynd dwellers. They 
were the navvies, the “ unskilled ” labourers — how false that 
name ! — who drained fields, made water-works, blocked 
streets, carried the hod for masons and bricklayers. Their 
work was casual and they had frequent spells of unemploy- 
ment. This might lead to some becoming drunkards and 
loafers ; but the average labourer was content with his week- 
end debauch, and was ready to turn out on the Monday 
morning. The unemployed stood at the mouth of the Vennal 
the whole day through. I thought at first they were loafing. 
The truth was, this was an al fresco labour bureau ; employers 
who were short of hands sent for them here. 

Youths who had been born and reared in the Wynds were 
inclined to shirk steady work. Golf had demoralised them. 
With the golf craze the Royal Park had become a centre for 
the game, and the lads from the Old Town could earn an e^y 
and not unpleasant living by giving themselves out for caddies. 


410 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


When past the age for this employment they were unfit for 
any other, and they became street-loafers, ready to beg or 
steal. 

To the Wynds had drifted a few who had seen better days. 
Once an abject creature stopped me and begged threepence. 
Why threepence ? I inquired. Because he was going down 
to the sawmill, and that was the price of a bag of sawdust ; 
he sold it in pennyworths to the small shopkeepers for their 
floors. In this miserable being, bearing all the marks of a born 
thrall of poverty, I recognised one who had been reared in a 
well-to-do home and had succeeded to a flourishing business. 
That he was now so low and vile was not all his blame, unless 
one may be blamed for lacking strength to bear awful and 

unlooked-for trial. Tried in strange wise poor F had 

been, but the story is too dark for telling. 

At the coups where the town rubbish was thrown, wrinkled 
skinny crones and tender children by the dozen would be 
searching out rags and bottles to sell for what the rag-store 
would give them. Passing along the fashionable terraces of 
a morning I have seen creatures that once were women 
fighting with the dogs for the scraps from the ash-buckets. 
Yet the heavens did not turn into darkness or blood ; stranger 
still, the passers-by did not wonder or even look. 

One could not live long in the Wynds without feeling that 
the condition of the inhabitants was largely determined by 
the character of their dwellings. I have already said some- 
thing about these. The most ancient, like the one I lodged in, 
had been the town houses of the nobility in the days when 
the castle was a royal residence. Few of these survived. 
Edifices dating from the seventeenth century were more 
numerous ; they had belonged to county gentry and wealthy 
burghers. But the local aristocracy had long ago deserted 
their old mansions, and had built themselves villas and 
terraces around the Royal Park. The artisan class, even, 
who had succeeded them in the Wynd region, had in turn 
migrated to modern tenements on lower land, and the Old 
Town was now inhabited by the population I have tried to 
classify. In up-to-date slang it would be known as a slum- 
area ; but the term would need to be applied with caution. 
The houses might fitly have sheltered a well-doing community ; 
though old, they were spacious and substantial, very different 
from the cramped shells, the “ brick boxes with slated lids,” 


THE STORY OF A FLOUGHBOY 


411 


knocked up by the speculative builder. In situation, too, 
they were favoured. They stood high on the rock of which 
the castle is the pinnacle — an airier and, one would say, a 
healthier site than that of the modern town below. What, 
then, cancelled these advantages and made the Wynd region 
compare so ill, in sick-rate and death-rate, with the newer 
districts ? This mainly. The properties had come into the 
hands of men who considered them solely as a source of revenue, 
and had divided them up till now a dozen families would be 
lodged in a house originally meant for one. Single apart- 
ments, even, had been partitioned to house several tenants, 
as had happened with the one I shared. As limited as the 
living space was the sanitary accommodation ; a single closet 
would be attached to a building which was tenanted by a 
dozen families. The one pressing reform, I could see, was to 
abolish the over-crowding. I could see the difficulty as well. 
The slums were owned by influential citizens, some even by 
magistrates. 


412 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


CHAPTER XLI 

V ARIED and sometimes curious were the little 
offices I had to perform for my Wynd neighbours. 
For instance : In this same week, as I was passing 
a newsagent’s about noon, the young woman who 
kept the shop asked me in. Here was the business. The 
Old Town, as I have repeatedly mentioned, is perched on a 
lofty rock and close to the castle. Besides the streets leading 
down to the modern town there is a broad path along one 
bank known as the Back Walk. Further down, the path winds 
among thick-planted deciduous trees and makes a charming 
resort in the hot days of summer ; but on its highest reach, 
where it leaves the neighbourhood of the castle, it runs for 
a short distance along the edge of a precipice twenty fathoms 
deep. Fatal accidents have happened here at night. Worse 
still, the spot has been long notorious for suicides. Since I 
made my home in the Wynds, two persons, one an unknown 
woman, had thrown themselves down the rocks. The woman 
had done so in open day, and many of the Wynd residents 
had seen the body l3dng. Some, the younger females in par- 
ticular, were none the better for the spectacle. My friend 
the newsagent told me that one or two people of the district 
had thought something might be done to prevent such occur- 
rences, and it had been suggested that my help might be useful. 
The natural course was to ask the town council to fence the 
dangerous part of the Back Walk with a high railing. If I 
drew up the petition, she and her friends would see that it 
was taken round the district for signature and duly laid before 
the council. 

While I did other people 's’ correspondence, I wrote no letters 
for myself and I received few. One of the few, forwarded 
from Sparkwell, was from my old friend Ralston, who was now 
farming in Essex. But one night a loud rap sounded on my 
door, and on my opening I was asked, “ Are you James 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


413 


Bryce ? This is for you, then.” I looked at the address, 
and at once knew the hand for Meiklejohn's. What could he 
have to write me about ? The note did not explain ; it was 
merely a line : could I meet him in the Royal Hotel at half- 
past one the next day ? 

I had no work to keep me from the appointment, and at 
the set hour I found my old friend waiting for me in the hall. 
He had never been demonstrative, and there was no boisterous 
greeting now ; but the grip of his hand, the light in his eyes 
assured me that I was welcome. 

” We’ll have a bite of something directly,” he said, ” but 
there's time for a minute’s crack first ; ” and he led me into 
the bar-parlour, where I had once heard Stevenson, the 
auctioneer, talk about squeezing the last drop out of a man. 

Meiklejohn suggested a mouthful of spirits as the day was 
sharp, and he opened his eyes when I declined anything more 
fiery than ginger-beer. He did not insist, however, and ere 
we had sat many minutes he remarked that it was quite like 
old times. 

” No, James. I’m not feeling any younger,” he declared, 
when I congratulated him on his looks, and he spoke ruefully 
of the frequent journeys he had now to make to the Midlands. 
They weren’t for a man of his years ; his wife was worse about 
them than he was himself. ” Ay, James, you’ve a lot to 
answer for,” he concluded. 

” You’re not asking for Nina,” he observed in a little. 

” How is she ? ” I asked, rather awkwardly. 

He laughed. ” She told me about being to see you. She 
has been in London for a fortnight now. She told you, I 
think, that she meant to go. But about yourself, James,” 
he went on, when we had discussed Nina’s plans a little ; 
” you’re doing a day’s work here and there, I understand ? ” 

I told him briefly how I had been employed. 

” Now, James,” he said, ” don’t you think, since you are 
bent on giving this sort of work a trial, that you would be 
better in a small place of your own ? It’s not satisfactory 
at all to be dependent on other folks for a day’s work.” 

I agreed, and admitted that I had felt this myself. But 
there was no time lost ; besides, small places were not easily 
found. 

” How would this suit, James ? ” and he passed over a 
newspaper cutting that he had taken from his pocket-book. 


414 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ To Let. Grange Orchard, St. Kenneth’s, extending to 
three and a half acres or thereby. Particulars from J. and 
W. McEwan, Writers, Craigkenneth.” 

“ It's worth considering," I admitted after a short reflection. 

" That’s my opinion," said my friend decidedly. " And 
you’ll let me arrange about money matters, James. It’s 
only your due. I didn’t know how much you saved me till 
you were away." 

I told him what money I had of my own. 

" Well, well ; that’ll start you, and when you need more 
you know where to find it. So here’s what we’ll do, James ; 
we’ll call at McEwan ’s and get the particulars of the place ; 
then we’ll go across and see it for ourselves. But we’ll have 
something to eat first. I’m needing it, whether you are or 
not." 

We went into the coffee-room, which was busy, as it always 
is on market-days, and Meiklejohn sat long over the lunch. 
He may have thought that a good meal was rarer with me 
than it used to be. 

McEwan knew my friend well, and I had met him once or 
twice. The Orchard, he warned us, was not in first-rate order, 
having been unoccupied for a year ; however, we should see 
it for ourselves. Meiklejohn and I walked down to the 
Ferry and crossed. 

The village, hamlet rather, is separated from Craigkenneth 
by the river, which is no more than a stonethrow broad. As 
everybody knows, the Fertha hereabout makes many a strange 
meander in its lazy passage through the carse, almost return- 
ing after a wide circuit to some point it had passed long before, 
and enclosing in every such link a tract of rich alluvial land. 
In one of these haughs, all but an island, nestles St. Kenneth’s, 
a clump of half a hundred cottages, some antique, with thick 
walls, tiny windows, and thatched or red-tiled roofs, a few 
modern, the summer dwellings of the well-to-do. The great 
attraction of the place, which brings strangers from every 
land, is, of course, the ruined abbey. I have no admiration 
for ruins now, or even for the ancient buildings and insti- 
tutions themselves as history pictures them in their prime ; 
so I will not linger on the power and splendour of the Abbey 
of St. Kenneth’s, its famous abbots, the parliaments that have 
sat within its walls. The vast edifice has vanished almost 
as though it had never been ; its stones, hewn and carved by 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


415 


mediaeval masons, have gone to build villagers' cottages and 
farmers’ dykes and steadings ; yet on the old turf the foun- 
dations can be distinctly traced, and hint to the curious 
stranger how spacious was the ancient pile. The tower — 
of later date than the abbey itself — remains, a massive, though 
not lofty structure of the Early English order ; also a solitary 
arch, once entrance to the nave and now serving for gateway 
to a tiny burial-ground still used by the natives. Indeed, I 
myself, as will be told, was to see a grave delved here. Not 
in this little pinfold but on the open green is a tomb that 
draws tourists from the ends of the earth. It stands near 
what is believed to have been the site of the high altar, and 
was erected not many years ago by a royal descendant to 
mark the place where a lang and queen of the fifteenth century 
are laid. 

Like many of the spots that the ancient churchmen chose 
for their abode, St. Kenneth's became a home of fruit-culture, 
and to this day the whole haugh is little more than a group 
of orchards, ranging from two acres or even less up to eight. 
The Grange Orchard, which is midway in situation, is midway 
also for size, comprising, as the advertisement put it, three 
and a half acres or “ thereby.” Though advertised as an 
orchard, it might as fitly have been called a market-garden. 
The orchard proper took up nearly half the ground. The 
land here had always been in pasture, and the trees were old ; 
one, indeed, a pear-tree, was the largest I have ever seen, and, 
if it cared for the honour, might, I daresay, claim to be pre- 
Reformation. The rest of the ground, with the exception 
of half an acre left for vegetables, was broken into plots of 
strawberries and bush-fruits, though fruit-trees, all of them 
young, however, had been planted throughout. The place 
was fairly rectangular, with high substantial walls on three 
sides, and a thick quickset hedge fencing the orchard proper 
from the river. 

After a survey of the place, which Meiklejohn, accustomed 
to well-kept gardens, considered wild, we entered the cottage. 
It was an old building, with a small Idtchen, a smaller sitting- 
room, and a most diminutive bedroom. Above, and entered 
by an outside stair, was a large loft, which was meant, no 
doubt, for a fruit-house. The outhouses were newer and in 
better condition — a one-horse stable, a two-stalled byre, a 
cart-shed, and milk-house. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


416 

“ Well,” McEwan asked, when we returned, “ what do you 
think of the place ? ” 

“Yon stone floor in the kitchen will never do,” said Meikle- 
john. “ I wouldn’t let any friend of mine go into such a 
place. It would be his death in a hard winter.” 

The lawyer, a very deliberate old gentleman, looked at 
my friend for a little without speaking. 

“ I’ll tell you what might be done, Mr. Meiklejohn,” he 
said at last. “ If other things were arranged, I could have a 
wooden floor put in. I’ve a good deal of liberty, for the owner 
is abroad and won’t object to my putting out a little expense 
if I get a sound tenant. There are one or two other altera- 
tions that could be made at the same time. The windows 
are rather small.” 

“ Yes ; that was another thing I was going to mention.” 

“ Well, it wouldn’t be a serious business to have them en- 
larged. It would only mean picking out a few stones all round 
and getting bigger sashes. Of course, all that could only be 
done if you took a lease of the place.” 

“ And that’ll depend on the rent,” said my friend. 

“ The rent is £30.” 

“ £30 ! By jings ! Mr. McEwan, you know how to let 
property. I wish I could screw our folks up to that figure. 
£30 ! Let’s see. Say £12 for house and outhouses and £18 
for the ground. That’s £5 an acre. We get thirty shillings 
on an average for ours.” 

“ Yes ; but this is orchard ground, Mr. Meiklejohn ; it’s 
all stocked.” 

“ Yes ; and what sort of state is it in ? It would take a 
small fortune to clean it. We should get it the first year for 
nothing.” 

“ That was the rent for the last tenant,” said the lawyer. 

“ Ay ; but did you get the rent ? ” retorted my friend, who 
had learned from the boatman that the last tenant had given 
trouble and had left ere his lease was out. 

“ Well, the less said about that the better, maybe,” McEwan 
admitted with a smile. “ I don’t mind sa3dng that we’re 
prepared to come and go a good bit for the sake of getting 
a satisfactory tenant.” 

“ If the rent had been something like a third less, say £20, 
we might have considered it,” the factor suggested. 

McEwan shook his head. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


417 


“ I could have had more than that a year ago. There were 
offers for the place as soon as it fell vacant, and some of the 
parties are after it still ; some have been here this very week. 
No, no ; you’ll have to name something reasonable.” 

” What do you say, James ? ” my friend asked. “ Or do 
you think we should have a talk over it first ? ” 

” That might be better,” I said, and after a little further 
talk we came away, though the lawyer, I could see, would 
fain have had a bargain clinched. 

What’s your opinion of the rent, James ? ” Meiklejohn 
asked, as we strolled towards the Royal stables for his trap. 
“ Do you think the place is worth ^^30 ? ” 

” I don’t. Your figure was quite enough.” 

“ Yes. Still, if you fancy the place, James — and I rather 
think you do ; in fact, if McEwan makes those alterations 
I believe myself it could be made a nice tidy wee spot — well, 
I was going to say, we shouldn’t let the chance slip for the 
sake of a pound or two. I’ll see that the rent doesn’t break 
you.” 

We discussed the question further, and at last my friend 
said, 

‘'I’ll tell you what, James ; if nothing fresh transpires 
before next Thursday, we’ll meet at the old shop at the same 
hour, half-past one, and go along to McEwan 's and settle 
the business. He won’t fix on anybody else without letting 
us know ; I’m certain of that.” 

The afternoon’s work left me unsettled. I could not but 
see that the Orchard offered certain advantages. For one 
thing, I should always have work waiting. Already the casual 
labour was growing fitful, and as winter advanced I should 
most likely have a lot of slack time. While I could do with 
a day now and then, I objected to weeks at a stretch. 

Again, I should be my own master. I had entered the 
service of fruit-growers and farmers because only in this way 
could I have work at all. Still, I recognised that it was un- 
satisfactory and unnatural to be anybody’s servant. Better, 
certainly, to be servant than master ; better to be the wronged 
than the wrong-doer. But the best is to be neither, and here 
was a chance of independence. 

The longer I thought of the Orchard the more attractive 
it looked, till I grew uneasy lest it should slip me. And it 
would, unless I gave a higher rent than Meiklejohn had 

EE 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


418 

suggested ; indeed, it might, whether or no, for the other 
applicants, who would doubtless see the charms of the place 
as clearly as I did, might increase their offers. So afraid was 
I of being forestalled that I resolved to visit McEwan the next 
morning as soon as his office was open. Should I have patience 
enough to wait even those few hours ? 

This resolve ought to have calmed my uneasiness, yet I 
had a feeling of discontent, dissatisfaction, which had rarely 
troubled me in my new life. Suddenly the thought came : 
What are you doing ? Here are you as jealous, as grasping, 
as eager to forestall others as any worldling could be ? Was it 
for this you changed your life ? Was it not to be done with 
this ? Was it not to love ? to help ? 

In a moment — how needful to take our bearings ! — I saw 
whither I had been drifting. Let who will take the Orchard, 
I said to myself ; I will offer no more rent, I will let Meikle- 
john offer no more in my name. To be done with it, I sat 
down and wrote McEwan that my tender of £20 was final ; 
I wrote Meiklejohn also, telling him what I had done, and both 
letters were posted ere I went to bed. Though my chance of 
the Orchard was gone, my peace was restored. 

On the Saturday night I was ready to face the police. The 
space at the Steeple was unoccupied, but I made no attempt 
to speak. Two policemen, not the pair that had interfered 
with me before, were stationed near by, and they would no 
doubt attribute my silence to their neighbourhood. Some of 
my acquaintances accosted me and asked if I thought of 
speaking ; more than one assured me that the police could 
not put me down if I persisted. I told them they would see 
ere long. At the head of Market Street, their usual stance, the 
members of the Salvation Army were gathered and I watched 
them, though from a distance. Soon after eight o’clock their 
band struck up and away they marched. The place was not 
well clear when I stepped forward and, waiting only till the 
music was far enough away to let me be heard, I shouted : 

The last night I spoke at the Steeple my subject was 
Drink. I asked why it is that people drink to excess, and when 
I was stopped by the police I was tr5dng to give the reason : 
people drink in order to forget.” 

Already the two policemen were round the Steeple, and 
standing not thirty yards away. I continued ; 

“ Now, I wish to consider the Drink question as it affects 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


419 


us, the working-people, and I maintain that, whether we have 
ever said so to ourselves or not, we of the working-class drink 
to excess for the same reason. We have a great deal in our 
life that we are anxious to put out of sight, and drink is the 
handiest means of doing that. Most of us spend our days in 
work that has no interest for any reasonable being ; or, if 
it happens to be interesting and useful, it is done under a 
master’s eye and for his profit, and is paid at a rate far below 
its true worth. We know, sometimes clearly, sometimes 
dimly, that we are being humiliated and plundered, and to 
get this unpleasant knowledge out of our minds we drink.” 

Ere I was this length the two policemen, who had been 
taking counsel together, had resolved on their action : they 
marched forward, and as I closed the last sentence they were 
at my side. 

You’ll have to clear out of this,” said the taller man in a 
surly, commanding tone. 

” Why ? ” I asked calmly. 

” We don’t allow speaking on the street.” 

Turning my head away from him and facing my audience, 
I went on : 

“ Now, there are two ways of getting rid of anything that 
troubles you. The one is to drink and so forget it. Drink 
clouds the reason, dulls the sense of pain, and puts away your 
trouble — for the time. There’s another way, and by it you 
can put away the trouble not for the time only, but for all 
time. That is, to keep your sober senses, and with clear 
eyes and unclouded mind to face the trouble and put an 
end to it,” 

My hearers, I am afraid, were not following me very closely, 
though they maintained great silence. They were looking 
from the police to myself and anticipating fun. The policemen 
were evidently at a stand ; they had no instructions for dealing 
with a situation like this. For a few minutes they muttered 
together ; then, with a very resolute and business-like air, 
they stalked off, making up Guild Street, I presume for the 
police station. As I went on with my speech, I was aware of 
many in the crowd glancing every now and then up the street 
for their return. I was ready. I would continue speaking, 
and if they stopped me it should be by force. If I were 
prosecuted, the authorities would have to show why a group 
of fanatics were free to bawl with throats of cartilage and 


420 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


metal ” and I must not speak a calm word of truth on the 
same spot. Quite sure of myself, then, I continued speaking, 
and if, like my hearers, I gave an occasional glance up the 
street, it was with no apprehension. Now and again a brief 
interruption would be caused by a drunk or a critic ; that 
was all. When my speech was ended, the pair of resolute 
officers had not yet returned, and as I moved away I could not 
check a moment’s feeling of triumph. 


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421 


CHAPTER XLII 

O N the Monday evening I had a letter from McEwan 
asking me to call the next day. When I went down, 
he told me he was inclined to accept my offer ; it 
was important that they should have a sound 
tenant, and from his acquaintance with myself and my friend, 
Mr. Meiklejohn, he preferred me to the other applicants that 
he didn’t Imow so much about. I was dubious, by this time, 
of the existence of those applicants. However, I agreed to 
take the Orchard, and the following day I attended at the 
office again and signed a lease for five years. The altera- 
tions on the cottage were to begin at once. Till it was 
habitable I could lodge, the lawyer suggested, with some 
family in St. Kenneth’s. 

Lodgings could easily have been found, for I had already 
friends in the hamlet. Of the young fellows who had attached 
themselves to me one, Robert Wordie, stayed in St. Kenneth’s ; 
his father, indeed, had one of the orchards. Wordie offered 
to find me quarters. But I declined. I was quite pleased 
to live on in the Wynds a little longer, and, if it was a sHght 
trouble to cross morning and night, I was master of my time. 

The most pressing task at the Orchard was to prune the 
fruit-trees and bushes. Kenneth went over the place with 
me every Sunday, and his long experience in fruit-growing 
made him a useful adviser. Wordie, who usually accompanied 
us, was also a help ; he had been familiar with the Orchard 
all his life, could tell when the younger trees had been planted, 
which of the older ones were good bearers, and what vegetable 
crops best suited the soil. As he had already told me, he 
had worked on his father’s place for two years after leaving 
school, but found there was only drudgery for him, no wage, 
no pocket-money even ; so in disgust he chose a trade as 
unlike as possible, and he had for years been with a draper 


422 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


in Craigkenneth, His experiences in a town-shop were not 
more satisfactory, and had driven him to Socialism. 

I had to look to the rasps first, cut out the old wood, tip 
and tie up the new canes. Kenneth advised me not to spade 
up the ground, but merely open it with a fork, clearing off 
the weeds at the same time. 

Next, the fruit-trees. The old ones I did not touch ; the 
young I merely cut back a little. 

The gooseberry-bushes I thinned, as some of them were 
overgrown with wood, but I gave them no more pruning. 
Here, too, I used the fork, not the spade, for turning over and 
cleaning the ground. 

The strawberries, Wordie told us, had been pulled for four 
seasons. Kenneth thought they should be left another year : 
I might get something off them. As they were very foul, I 
had better delve the alleys. For a well-kept break of straw- 
berries he did not recommend delving, though he had seen it 
practised all his life and had been compelled to practise it 
himself. It was too sore on the roots, he held ; the proper 
tool for cleaning the alleys was the hoe. 

In general, Kenneth's advice was to move cautiously the 
first year. Once a crop was off, I should know what to take 
out and what to spare. 

It was a mixed winter, neither frost nor fresh weather lasting 
for long spells. By the time the trees and bushes were gone 
over and the ground round them turned up, the cottage was 
ready for occupation. I moved in on the second last day of 
the year after a ten-weeks' stay in the Wynds. Never had 
I had a happier home or friendlier neighbours. Not once 
had I encountered a rude act, an uncivil word. My only 
complaint, indeed, was that the natives had treated me with 
too much respect. Sometimes I thought that in my old age 
I could do no better than make my solitary home in the ancient 
quarters of a town — not Craigkenneth, where I should be a 
speckled bird, but some place like it — there, unknown, un- 
noticed, to pass my last tranquil years, and there to die. 
Nowhere, among town-dwellers at least, should I be more at 
home ; nowhere should I be more certain of neighbourly 
offices, should these be needed. But it is early yet to be 
making plans against old age — early for me, at any rate, who 
cannot look beyond a day. 

For some weeks after taking up house I was kept busy 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


423 


delving. It is work I relish, and every fine day I was at it 
as long as light permitted. Indeed, I often felt, with a certain 
amusement, that if a master had asked me to work so long and 
so^ strenuously, I should have denounced him as a slave- 
driver. Yet I never gave a grumble, if it were not at the 
shortness of the day. Provisions were brought to the door in 
grocer’s and baker’s vans, and I was seldom out of the Orchard 
bounds except for one half-hour each day, which I spent on 
the river-side, watching the water-hen play hide-and-seek 
among the sedges, the dab-chick float up with the tide, or a 
solitary swan, that had haunted that reach all winter, sail 
to and fro as proudly as if the river were its own. It was not 
hope of gain that tied me to the place ; I knew too well that 
under present conditions one will gain little, though he may 
lose a good deal, by country labour, unless indeed he has a 
band of underpaid hirelings to labour for him. I worked 
because the place was in a way my own and I loved it. Yes, 
I loved it till I was nearly forgetting the interests that it and 
my labour in it should have been only the means of advancing. 
Though I still spoke at the Steeple on the Saturday nights 
and was interested for the time, I was no longer devoured 
by the reformer’s zeal throughout the week. Once I had the 
spade in my hands I looked neither behind nor before nor 
beyond ; the task of the moment had all my heart, and once 
or twice the half-comic, half-rueful thought came to me that 
I should be unwilling to die since death would part me from 
the loved spot. 

But ere the Orchard had grown so dear as to make me utterly 
forget the world outside, a thing was to happen that would 
revive the soul within me and guide my life to issues I may not 
yet know. 

I have mentioned that near the abbey tower, in what has 
been part of the nave, is a tiny railed-in graveyard. Re- 
turning that way from my riverside ramble one morning in 
early February, I found an old villager delving a grave. I 
had not heard of any death in the hamlet, and I stopped to 
ask old Whyte whose resting-place he was preparing. This 
was his story. 

Near the point where the lane from our hamlet joins the 
highway between Aletown and Craigkenneth is a little round 
plantation of deciduous trees. It is enclosed with a low 
wooden fence which stands upon a grass bank, for the wood 


424 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


is somewhat above the level of the surrounding fields. At 
dawn the previous day a shepherd lad whose flocks were 
boarded on those fields came on the dead body of a man hang- 
ing head downward from a stake in the fence. The man was 
elderly and a tramp. He had doubtless taken shelter for the 
night in the lee of the wood, and had chosen the fence to rest 
on because there had been rain and the grass was wet. When 
resting here he had gone to sleep and had fallen backwards ; 
the pointed stake had caught his clothes at the fork and he 
hung impaled, skewered like an ox at a butcher’s door. He 
had struggled ; so it could be seen from his rigid limbs ; 
but there was nothing to give purchase to hand or foot and 
let him wrench himself free. A doctor and a policeman were 
called, but the man had been hours dead. The body, in the 
clothes it was found in, was coffined in a cottage near by and 
was to be buried this day at noon. 

A handful of the villagers, myself among them, attended 
the funeral. Not a score of paces from the spot where a king 
and queen rest beneath their altar-tomb they laid the nameless 
vagrant. No stone marks the place, and yet he was not to 
be without a memorial. 

For the next two days the tragedy was never out of my 
thoughts. I found myself plunged into the distracted agony 
that had surged over me a year before and nearly swept away 
my reason. On the evening of the third day, at the lane- 
mouth on the Aletown and Craigkenneth road, a Notice 
appeared : 


Any HoMEiiEss Pekson 

MAY HAVE SHELTEB FOB 

THE Night at Gbange 
Obchabd. 


Some hay and straw had been spread in the byre and stable, 
and a plateful or two of bread left there. 

The night was cold, with a keen frosty wind, and I knew 
there would be visitors. So I resolved to sit up beyond my 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


425 


usual hour. In the course of the night I went round several 
times to the outhouses. No one was there. I waited till 
past midnight. No wanderer came. It was a surprise and 
a disappointment. 

But there would be guests next night, for sure. Again I 
sat till late, again I made repeated visits to byre and stable, 
again I was left alone. So things passed the next night and 
the next ; soon I forgot about the Notice, and the Orchard 
again had all my thought. But there was a difference now : 
I had no longer the feeling that other duties, more vital, were 
being neglected. If the Notice had brought no outcasts to 
my abode, it had brought peace to my own soul. 

February continued dry, and in the second-last week of the 
month I had such a tempting seed-bed that I resolved to 
venture on the first sowings. On the Monday, if it were fine, 
I should put in some leek-seed. The Saturday before I went 
over to Craigkenneth to fetch the seed, which had already 
been ordered. Passing Cullen’s bookshop, that always dis- 
played some portraits of celebrities in the window, I got a 

start. Who was that ? Could it be ? Yes ; there was 

the name, and even without it I could not be mistaken. In 
some agitation I entered the shop and asked for the photo to 
be handed down. 

" Why are you selling this ? ” I inquired of the shop-girl. 

“ What’s remarkable about it ? ” 

She could not say. Mr. Cullen was out, but would be back 
after dinner. If I called again he would be able to inform 
me. 

I could not wait, but I came over to Craigkenneth again on 
the Thursday and visited the mart. Meiklejohn was standing 
with a group of farmers near the door of one of the rings 
when I caught sight of him. He came forward with a glad 
face, and was beginning to explain that if I could wait half 
an hour we might have a while together, when I stopped him 
and said that I was busy, like himself. 

“ But here’s what I came to ask you about ; ” and I pulled 
out Nina’s portrait. What’s the meaning of this ? It was 
for sale in Cullen’s window.” 

He gave a laugh. ” Man, did you not know ? Are you 
not seeing the papers ? ” 

I never saw a paper, I told him. 

My friend then informed me that Nina had had a notable 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


426 

success : she had won the Handel Prize. What was the 
Handel Prize ? It was a prize founded some years before 
in honour of the great composer, and the competition was 
open to all singers who had studied for a certain time at 
any German conservatory. Nina had gained the women’s 
prize. What made her success the more remarkable was that 
only once before had the prize left its own country, and then 
it was for America. Of course, as Meiklejohn explained, the 
success meant more than appeared ; it ensured that Nina 
would soon have her choice of engagements. 

I could not rest indoors that night ; I wandered out alone 
under the still, starry sky, thinking of my sweetheart. The 
very stars brought her nearer to me, for when we walked 
together at nights she used to ask me about them. There 
were the Seven Sisters. I recalled the night and the spot 
where she pointed them out to me and I told her the name. 
How I admired her courage, her self-confidence, which the 
event had justified ! I who was not a success, whose poor 
attainments were the outcome of painful effort, admired one 
whom Nature had endowed for the work she chose and whose 
first call commanded success. Might love for her art, might 
all kind influences, charm her from the dangers that would 
beset her now ! In these musings I had strolled clear of the 
hamlet when a man who had come up at a great pace, pushing 
what seemed to be a perambulator, stopped and asked, 

“ Excuse me, mister ; but am I right for the Grange 
Orchard ? ” 

My thoughts had been so far away that the interruption 
gave me a start. And the question of itself would have been 
a surprise. 

“ Grange Orchard ! ” I repeated. “Yes. Are you want- 
ing to see — to see the tenant ? ” 

The man gave a sort of laugh. 

“ Well, I can hardly tell you,” he said. After a moment’s 
pause he added, “ But, to be frank with you, it’s like this. 
There’s a Notice back there directing any homeless person to 
the Grange Orchard. Now, I’m homeless in the meantime, 
and I’m making tracks for it.” 

Only when he mentioned the Notice did I begin to divine 
his errand. I assured him he was right, and as I turned to 
accompany him I mentioned that I was responsible for the 
invitation. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


427 


It was three days, he told me, since he left Aletown, where 
his wife was staying, and he had expected to be home that 
night. However, trade had been bad and he had waited 
longer than he had meant to, for he did not care to go home 
empty-handed. He had observed the Notice when passing 
two days before, and when he found himself at the corner 
that night he determined to ask shelter rather than take a 
six-mile tramp in the dark. 

It struck me as singular that he should have a wife and yet 
be tramping the country with a young child. No doubt there 
would be reasons, and it was none of my business. He 
seemed more curious about me, however ; at least, he was 
franker in his curiosity. Was this just a notion of my own — 
this sheltering of homeless persons ? Had I been at the thing 
long ? He had never come across such an offer in his travels. 
Did many tramps come about me ? 

I told him what had led me to think of the plan, and what 
accommodation I had provided for any one who might come. 

But,” I said, as we reached the cottage, “ you’ll be better 
in the house when you've a youngster with you. There’s 
plenty of room. You’ll take the kitchen — it’ll be cosier for 
the child — and I’ll occupy the room for the night.” 

He gave a merry laugh ; indeed, his manner was as lively 
as his step. 

” No, no, sir,” he protested ; ” the outhouse will do first- 
rate, and I’ll be proud to handsel it.” 

” But the youngster ! ” I reminded him. We must make 
it as comfortable as we can.” 

He laughed again, and assured me that his kids had been 
brought up to be hardier than himself. 

” Come in, anyway, and we’ll have a mouthful of some- 
thing to warm us,” I said ; and I opened both halves of 
the door to admit the pram. ” Bring it into the kitchen,” 
I said, when he seemed disposed to leave it in the cold 
passage. 

When the lamp was turned up my first glance was for the 
child. To my horror it was hidden beneath a canvas apron 
till nothing of its face was visible. The man must have 
covered it up to protect it from the night air, perhaps also 
from the recent shower; but his masculine stupidity was 
like to be fatal. 

” Hang it ! you’ll smother the youngster,” I cried. 


428 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


Two of them,” said the fellow as cheerily as ever ; “ twins 
— boy and girl, Jocky and Jenny.” 

” Good gracious ! that’s worse. The carriage is small 
enough for two at the best.” 

“ Never fear. Take a look at them. They’ll be sucking 
their bottles,” he said, with the livehness that nothing could 
check. 

Stooping down I tenderly drew back the covering. What 
a cheat ! I brought to view some of those curiosities used in 
certain rural parts for weather-glasses and familiarly known 
as ” Jocky and Jenny ” — toy houses of chip and cardboard, 
gaudily painted and ornamented, with two open doors at 
which a lady or gentleman appears, according as the weather 
is to be fine or rainy. Though I had never seen them in this 
district they had been common in England, and I knew them 
at once. When the fellow gave a loud ” Ha, ha ! ” at my 
expense, I joined heartily in his merriment. 

” Sold again ! ” he cried. ” But never mind. You’re 
not the first, not by a long way. Most folks don’t know what 
the show is for, even. I don’t suppose you know yourself.” 

I let him see I did, and I explained that the toys were to 
be found in many farms and cottages in Hamptonshire ; about 
Wiston, for instance, where I had often been. 

” Very likely my own,” he said. ” I’m in those parts every 
year. I know the Midlands better than any other bit of the 
country. Used to be a groom, and lived a lot in the hunting 
counties.” 

At supper that night and while we breakfasted next morning 
he gave me some of his life-story. He was a native of County 
Tyrone, his name Shiels. Though my ear is quick for dialects, 
I could not well have told his nationality ; the brogue had 
been completely rubbed off by travel. 

” Tell you a good story of those stable-days,” he said, when 
speaking of his stay in a noted hunting centre. “You don’t 
have any High Church hereabout ? ” 

“ Not that I’m aware of,” I answered, amused and a little 
surprised to find him versed in ecclesiastical distinctions. 
“ You’ll be an Orangeman, perhaps ? ” I suggested. 

“ No, no. It’s the bells, sir ; the bells. There was a High 
church near the part where most of us stable-boys had our 
quarters. Well, on Sunday mornings the bell began at eight 
and kept it up every hour or so till night. The mischief was 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


429 


that Sunday was the only morning we got enough of our beds, 
and not a wink of sleep could we have for this cursed jingle- 
jangle. Well, some of them complained, but the parson took 
no notice. Then I put them up to the dodge. One of them 
goes to the parson’s house, rings the bell, not sparing it either : 
‘ I say, miss, you might tell the parson not to ring before 
eleven on Sundays.’ As soon as he comes back to the stables, 
off goes another and does the same. That man’s door was 
kept opening and shutting every five minutes the whole 
blessed day. The maids didn’t object, for some of the boys 
were strapping fellows, but the parson couldn’t stand it ; 
soon had more of the bell than he wanted. Caved in the 
next day, sir ; caved in the next day.” 

Shiels’ wife — a native of Leicestershire — and his three 
children were at Aletown. He did not favour lodging-houses ; 
his custom was to rent and furnish a room in the place that 
was his headquarters for the time, dispose of the things when 
he moved, and furnish anew at the next halt. The wife made 
paper flowers and hearth ornaments ; the two older children, 
both girls, were at school ; the youngest, a boy, was only 
three. Shiels was proud of his family. “I’ll back ’em 
against any of their own weight in the county.” For the sake 
of the girls’ schooling he sometimes stuck to one centre till 
forced to move by risk of starvation. Altogether, the home, 
as he pictured it, appeared before me as a cheerful spot in the 
Arab wilderness, and one was the more surprised to see the 
father careful in guarding its peace as he was himself well 
practised in all the rogueries, and doubtless in many of the 
vices, of the vagrant. 

When Shiels and I parted on the road the next morning, 
we were like friends of years, and as I glanced back at the 
spare figure tearing on behind the pram, the tails of the old 
clerical frock flying in the breeze, my heart had a feeling of 
hopefulness for the world that was worth the trifling kindness 
I had rendered ten times told. 

With Shiels began a stream of guests that has continued 
till now. Not many nights have passed, certainly not one 
week, without a visitor. I never asked a question of them : 

He * helpeth ’ best who leaves unguessed 

The secret of another’s breast ; 

and most of them departed without telling their history or 


430 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


even their name. Some, indeed, I have never seen ; in the 
dark they came and ere light they were away. But a few, 
of their own will and, I daresay, for their own relief, have told 
me their story. 

The most remarkable among them for appearance, indeed, 
the most kingly-looking man, perhaps, I have ever seen, was 
an Englishman, native of an eastern shire. Far over the six 
feet, with a frame broad enough to match his height, and with 
everything else, — large shapely hands, full fine features — ^in 
perfect proportion, he looked, — in spite of the cast-off tattered 
clothes, most of them too small for him — he looked a king, 
a king in disguise. In his soft musical voice and in cultured 
tone and speech he told me how he had been meant for the 
Church, but, as his parents were not too well-off, had been 
sent, not to Oxford or Cambridge, but to Trinity College, 
Dublin. His father’s death cut short his college career, and 
he took a situation as clerk in some business house. He filled 
different situations of the kind. At on 3 time he was secretary 
to a cork-cutting syndicate, and when so employed gained a 
practical knowledge of cork-cutting, and afterwards worked 
at the trade in different towns. There is a cork factory in 
Craigkenneth, and the hope of getting into it for a time had 
brought him to my neighbourhood. When I said that all 
about the man was in keeping with his majestic figure, I should 
have excepted his voice, which was singularly low and gentle. 
It indicated, I have sometimes thought since, the defect that 
accounted for his failure — a softness of character, namely, 
which would quite unfit him for the struggle of business life. 
When I say failure,” I use the word, of course, in the world’s 
sense. 

Navvies came, passing from some district where a big enter- 
prise — waterworks, railway, or the like — had been completed 
to another where a like undertaking was begun ; pedlars 
with a string of boot-laces or a card of buttons as a cover for 
begging ; tramps and professional beggars with nothing. 
The last had often women with them, haggard, hopeless-eyed 
creatures with all the softness and bloom of womanhood long, 
long lost. One afternoon in April brought me a strangely- 
yoked pair, both young men. One was a well-set-up fellow 
of maybe eight-and-twenty, an Aberdonian, as I knew by his 
tongue ; his mate, a lad of little over twenty, of foreign blood 
apparently and with an angel’s face. He had long black 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


431 


curls, an oval face, olive skin with, however, a delicate bloom 
on the cheeks, perfect features, and the innocent expression 
of a child. Of Italian parentage, he was a native of London, 
and had been trained as a cook in Gatti’s. The pair had fore- 
gathered in an Edinburgh lodging-house and had been pals 
for two months. They stayed with me some days, helping 
me with a new strawberry plantation. The Aberdonian was 
a capital worker, the Italian lad the most handless and helpless 
that ever I saw lift a tool. They stayed, as I said, three days. 
The Italian, I think, was disposed to stay longer ; it was his 
friend who seemed restless. Though by no means so attrac- 
tive in looks as the angelic lad, his companion, he is often 
with me in memory, and that because of the story he told me 
the day he left. Perhaps he told it to excuse his leaving. 
He had been a dock-labourer and was in the militia. At the 
outbreak of the war he was called up and served through it 
all, being away four years. His wife went to stay with her 
father in Dundee. All the years he was away he had no word 
from her, though he wrote her several times. The war over, 
he came back to this country, and made at once for the home 
where he had left his wife. Her father came to the door, took 
him in kindly enough, but answered his questions about his 
wife so haltingly that the young fellow saw something was 
wrong. At last he said, Tell me at once ; what’s become of 
Mary ? Is she away with another man ? Tell me the truth. 
I can stand it.” 

” Mary’s dead,” was the answer. She died ten months 
ago.” 

” Why didn’t you let me know ? ” 

” We wrote you twice about the death. And Mary wrote 
you time and time before, and we never got the scrape of a 
pen from you.” 

I never got a letter ! And I wrote Mary I don’t know 
how often.” 

“ The letters never came here, then.” 

I asked the young fellow how that had happened, and he 
said one of his sergeants, the sergeant-major, if I remember 
rightly, had kept up the letters, both those that came and 
those that should have been sent away. 

What could be his meaning for that ? 

I know,” the young man said ; but he told me no more and 
I did not ask. 


432 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


“ That knocked me to splinters/’ he went on, talking as 
impersonally as if he were giving the fate of some stranger. 
“ I was as steady a chap as you are, and since that Fve gone 
straight to hell.” 

I found that he lived on the road by singing — ” raising a 
shout,” he called it. The young Italian gathered the coppers. 

I risked a hint that he was young yet, that the best of life 
might be in front, that all depended on himself. His only 
reply was, 

‘‘To hell ! ” 

Yet as I recall his protective, almost tender, attitude to his 
beautiful helpless companion, the way he praised him to me — 
‘‘ he’s a thoroughly trained cook ; I suppose at his own trade 
he can’t be beat ” — I try to think that the light was not 
wholly quenched. 

If his story was true — and why should he lie to me ? — 
he was one of several I have encountered who were undone 
through women. Here is another case. 

Going out early one breezy spring morning I was astonished 
to see a figure flying round the orchard plot near the river. 
Strolling down, I found a little spare man, with only his 
trousers on and naked from the waist up, tearing round the 
grass plot as if for a wager, holding straight in front of him a 
stick with what looked a flag streaming from the end. When 
his fleet career brought him near me, I accosted him with, 
‘‘ You’re surely training.” 

‘‘ Dryin’ my sark, man ! ” he yelped, without checking his 
course ; and I had to conclude that he must have been washing 
his shirt and was taking this simple method of drying it. At 
breakfast he told me nothing about himself, though he dis- 
coursed in a consequential tone on other topics, mainly on 
the state of trade throughout the country. 

‘‘ And trade seems as bad aboot Craigkenneth as ony gate. 
So Charlie Landale was telling me yesterday.” 

For once I was curious about my guest, feeling sure that the 
little man’s history was worth knowing ; so I asked Wordie, 
who was with Landale, to find out what he could. Here is 
Landale ’s account, as Wordie reported it. 

‘‘ I’ve known Jake Rentoul all my days. He belongs to 
Kirkcaldy, like myself. We’re just of an age and were at 
school together, and then served our time in the same shop. 
When we were through, I went to Glasgow but he was kept 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 433 

on with Page. Jake was always steady and well-behaved, 
and as smart a little chap as you could meet, very particular 
about his appearance, and very clean and tidy ; in fact, a 
dandy in a small way. It was a curious thing that put him 
wrong. He married soon after he was journeyman, married 
a lassie of the place and a schoolmate of his and mine, Lizzie 
Beveridge. She was a decent enough lass, but had a quick 
temper and a sharp tongue, and the pair of them quarrelled 
a good deal, for Jake was inclined to be cat-witted too. Well, 
one day at breakfast-time the two of them had a bad row, and 
Jake went off to his work in a great temper. When he came 
back for his dinner, he gets his wife hanging behind the room- 
door, dead. Jake has never done a day's good since. He 
began wandering about the country, and he took to drink 
badly. He worked at his old trade here and there — he's 
worked for me here ; but if he put in a week at one place, 
that was as much as he could manage. He has told me him- 
self that he can't help it ; from the day he found his wife 
hanged something came over him, and he has never been able 
to settle." 

Wordie mentioned the shirt-drying. 

" Yes ; that's well known. In fact, he's still very cleanly 
in his ways. He won't put up at a lodging-house — he rather 
hes in barns or behind hay-stacks ; and he's very particular 
about washing himself and his clothes. It's a wonder he had 
even the breeks on when your friend saw him. I've heard of 
him flying along a country-road stark naked, with his shirt 
on the end of his stick. That's how he comes by his nick-name, 

‘ the Flying Tailor.' " 

Another guest claims a word, not in the same connection, 
however, for his self-esteem would have borne him wound- 
proof through the fiercest marital strife. He was a bard — to 
give the full name and designation, Robert Ritchie, the Bath- 
gate Poet, or, as he pronounced it, Paw-et." Robert was a 
short, broad man wearing on to sixty, with a complexion 
rendered florid by his open-air life and not less, perhaps, by 
his free indulgence in his country's wine. The night he 
visited me he was well perfumed with the essence. A friend — 

I shall speak of that friend later — was sharing my home at the 
time, and a merry night we had listening to the bard's stories 
and confessions. He did not hide his failings. 

" Yes," he said, not in rude Doric but in the speech that 

FF 


434 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


became a man of letters, “ I have a weakness ; I own it. Fm 
too fond of turning up my little finger. But what can you 
expect ? I go into company ; indeed, my company is in 
great demand. Then the cry is, ' Ritchie, give us a song ; ' 
‘ Ritchie, read us one of your paw-ems ; ’ ‘ iStchie, let’s hear 
that stump speech on the Land Question.’ Then the jovial 
bowl goes round and I imbibe too freely. It’s the failing of 
genius, and Ritchie’s not the man to say he’s perfect.” 

He showed us the poetical leaflets by the sale of which he 
made a livelihood : The Auld Hame, A Visit to the Field of 
Bannockburn, or, ” what is generally pronounced my master- 
piece,” The Poet's Dream. He wandered the whole year and 
the whole country through : ” They know Robert Ritchie 
from Inverness to London,” he said with pride. England 
was his favourite hunting-ground. His system was to ferret 
out his successful countrymen and claim a share of their good 
fortune. The Burns’ Clubs especially, which have been 
established in most of the large English towns, furnished him 
with patrons. Nor had he any false modesty to deter him 
from seeking recognition from the great. 

” There’s Lord . I’ve tried to interview him and get 

something in the way of a small pension or allowance. I 

called at when I knew his lordship was at home. But 

I couldn’t see him. He sent out a sovereign by a flunkey. 
However,” he continued magnanimously, ” I don’t blame his 
lordship ; it’s not his fault. I know him to be a patriot and 
a warm patron of genius. But he has been so often taken in 
that he has grown suspicious.” 

It was a sweet forenoon in mid-April, and I was busy with 
a plantation of young strawberries, what time the blackbirds 
were whistling their mellowest, when a gentleman known to 
me by sight — he was a Craigkenneth business-man, I under- 
stood — came into the orchard and began chatting to me about 
my work. In a little he turned the talk to the tramp question, 
asked if many homeless persons availed themselves of my 
invitation; where I lodged them, and so on. Pleased with his 
interest, I offered to show him the place, and we went up to the 
offices. He surveyed everything keenly though unobtrusively, 
and after hearing how my guests were accommodated, he asked, 

” You won’t have any other outhouse, Mr. Bryce, that you 
could give up for this purpose, some place where — where a 
person could be alone ? ” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


435 


Nothing but that little place that used to be the milk- 
house/’ I said in some surprise. “ I daresay it could easily 
be turned into something of the kind, though I never thought 
of that.^^ 

“ I would pay, of course,’' he said, “ pay whatever you 
considered reasonable.” 

” Is it for some one you know ? ” Tasked. 

It’s for myself,” he answered, glancing at me for an 
instant and then looking away. 

I could not speak for a time, so great was my astonishment. 

He was well dressed, his manner was that of the well-to-do 
business man, and if he was a loose liver his face did not 
show it. 

” Oh yes,” I managed to say at last, and stuck there. 

There was another painful silence ere he asked, 

“ I suppose you know me ? ” 

I know your face quite well. That’s all.” 

'' My name’s Ballingall. I travelled for the Muirheads, 
the motor people.” 

“ Oh yes,” I said again. I was sure it was in Craigkenneth 
I had seen you.” As he made no remark I added, ” So you 
think of tr5dng the simple hfe ? ” 

“I’m forced to. You’ll know about my — my misfortune ? ” 

“ No,” I answered. 

He ventured to look me in the face. 

“ I thought you would. I was dismissed for — for a mistake 
with money.” Then, as if making a great effort, he added, 
“ I got nine months for it and am just out of jail.” 

“ I never heard a word of it,” I was able to assure him. 
“ I rarely see a paper, even a local one,” I explained, “ and 
I’m not in the way of hearing gossip. So you’ll be out of 
work at present ? ” 

“ Yes ; and out of a home as well. You see, it’s this way, 
Mr. Bryce. I was — I came out a week ago, a week last Monday, 
and I made my way back to Craigkenneth. I wasn’t penniless; 
I have a married sister in Kilmarnock in good circumstances, 
and she sent me enough to go on with. Well, I took lodgings 
in Edward Street till I could look about me. When I had 
been there two days the landlady informed me she couldn’t 
keep me after the week. She didn’t give the reason and I 
didn’t ask ; I knew it well enough. Somebody had told her 
who I was. So I left on the Saturday night.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


436 

I could hardly credit the story, and I said so. He smiled. 

** That what’s before me now, I suppose.” 

He went on to say that he had not looked for another room, 
knowing that he would be driven out of it in time. The last 
two nights he had put up at a Temperance Hotel. To continue 
that was, of course, beyond his means ; besides, hotel-keepers 
would soon be told about him and would put him out. 

I took him into the cottage and showed him the little bed- 
room, explaining that I slept in the kitchen, and that the room 
would be better occupied than empty. It was very painful 
to see his emotion at the offer. 

Getting Ballingall to stay with me has been one of the 
greatest blessings of my life. By nature I am somewhat of 
a solitary, and my peculiar circumstances have encouraged 
the failing. Ballingall’s company took me out of myself and 
taught me the joy of comradeship. He, too, seemed happy in 
his new home. When he cared, and that was often, he worked 
in the Orchard ; but the task, I could see, that gave him greatest 
pleasure, and that he took out of my hands entirely, was to 
arrange and provide for our casual guests. I sometimes 
thought he should have tried to start afresh in a new country, 
but I never made the suggestion for, after all, a man should 
know himself best. Perhaps he felt rather old — he was fifty- 
five — for the enterprise. We were together two months, all 
too short a time for me ; then his brother-in-law found him 
an opening as clerk in a Kilmarnock foundry. I have no 
doubt he would be ready, should there be need, to give me 
share of his purse and home, and it may be that the need will 
come ere long. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


437 


CHAPTER XLIII 

M y attention to homeless wayfarers occasioned 
remark. I might have thought of this, but had 
not. Dwellers in Craigkenneth and even in parts 
beyond visited the Orchard as the fine Spring days 
were lengthening, and had all sorts of ingenious excuses for 
obtaining a sight of my improvised lodging-house. Most 
contented themselves with making some polite observation 
that might mean anything, but one or two were more out- 
spoken. A young fellow, a law-clerk in the town and an 
acquaintance of Wordie’s, visited me one Sunday along with 
my friend, and after he had explored the byre in every recess 
he surprised me with the abrupt question, 

” Are you not frightened they’ll cut your throat ? ” 

When I had gathered my wits sufficiently to take in his 
question, I asked in turn, 

“ What would make them do that ? ” 

** Just devilry. The most of them will be fit for anything.” 
” But surely,” I represented, ” they have sense enough to 
know that that wouldn’t benefit them. Very hkely the 
reverse. The next tenant might not keep open house.” 

” That’s all right ; but I’m pretty sure you keep a good 
strong lock on your door.” 

Wordie laughed. ” Man, he doesn’t lock his door at all ; ” 
and when the law-clerk looked incredulous, Wordie continued 
in a bantering fashion, ” He thinks it’s queer to be calling 
folks our brothers and yet be locking the door in their face.” 

” I hope he doesn’t find his mistake, that’s all,” observed 
the young fellow with an air of wisdom. 

Wordie afterwards informed me that the law-clerk set me 
down as ” a bit off.” 

I could laugh at this, but another story :that came to my 
ears gave me annoyance. It was that the byre was occasion- 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


438 

ally the scene of orgies in which tramps of both sexes had 
part. Lies, of course, the invention of evil minds ; so quiet 
was the place usually that one could not have told that people 
were there. True, that with the advance of Spring mill-girls, 
tramping between the big cities of the north and south, 
accompanied sometimes by young fellows of the corner-boy 
sort, found their way now and then to the Orchard. But the 
poor wretches — those, at least, that I saw — footsore and 
famishing, sought only rest and food, and had neither heart 
nor strength to act the part of the Jolly Beggars. 

As Summer drew near we had other visitors. Painters 
with tangled hair and Bohemian head-gear came and sat in my 
orchard and tried to make the rose-white apple-bloom beautiful 
for ever on canvas. Tourists from far lands passed on their 
way to the abbey tower and the royal grave. Pleasant, too, 
it was on sunny days to stand and watch the ships go by 
among green meadows and orchard-trees. Baltic sailing- 
vessels they mostly were, with cargoes of timber or linseed- 
cake. Grassy banks concealed both the hulls of the ships and 
the narrow winding channel, and you had the illusion that they 
were fairy craft gliding on green fields instead of watery ways. 
With Summer, too, came new duties. My early vegetables 
were ready for sale. Market-gardeners know that to raise 
the produce is only part, and not the hardest part, of their 
work ; they have to get it sold. Luckily I had a friend whose 
warnings kept me from costly mistakes. 

On one of his first visits Kenneth had remarked, 

“ It’s impossible, Jamie, that the orchards here can pay, the 
way they’re conducted.” 

” How is that, Kenneth ? ” I asked. 

” Weel, Jamie, there’s hauf a dizzen orchards in the place, 
nane o’ them big, and yet every ane has a powny and trap 
except Young’s and yer ain. Noo, one powny and trap wad 
dae the hale wark. Think what a savin’ that wad be ! ” 

” That’s so,” said Wordie, who was in our company. ‘'I’ve 
told our folks that many a time. Now, to give you an instance 
of the waste that goes on. I went to Aletown one day with 
my father to hawk apples and pears. We hadn’t half a load 
in our float. When we were starting we met Hope coming 
home from Craigkenneth with a small load of coal. When we 
were hawking the Aletown shops we came across Buchanan 
on the same job as ourselves ; he hadn’t half a load either. 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


439 


Now, one horse and trap could have easily done all that those 
three did that day ; in fact, as you say, Kenneth, it could 
easily do the work of all the orchards in the place. Three 
horses and three traps could be dispensed with ; the money 
it took to buy them would have been in our pockets, and 
the horses wouldn't have been to feed. There’s a saving for 
you.” 

” True,” I admitted ; ” it’s enough of itself to make all the 
difference between a profit and a loss.” 

” There’s this as weel,” Kenneth observed. ” Instead o’ 
four folk bein’ on the road, ye wad just need ane, and the ither 
three could be workin’ at hame.” 

” Yes ; that’s as important a thing,” I said. 

“And there’s more than that,” Wordie pointed out. “ When 
the four are on the road, they bring down the prices on one 
another. I saw that when I was at Aletown that day. The 
shopkeepers would say to my father, ‘ Your prices are rather 
high. Buchanan may be round to-day ; we’ll wait and see 
what he’s charging.’ They would say the same to Buchanan, 
no doubt. But if the growers sent out their fruit together with 
one man, they would have the shopkeepers at their mercy 
instead of being at the mercy of the shopkeepers. At present, 
they’re simply cutting their own throats.” 

“ It’s a wonder,” I said, “ that they don’t see that.” 

“ They can’t help seeing it,” Wordie replied. “ I’ve 
pointed it out to every one of them, and I’ve told my father 
till I’m tired.” 

“ What’s their objection ? ” I asked. 

“ They’ve plenty of excuses. They’ll tell you, ' It wouldn’t 
work ; for one might be needing the horse for hawking at the 
very time that another wanted it to bring goods from the 
station.’ But there’s nothing in that. The real reason is, 
they can’t trust one another ; every one is frightened his 
neighbour will steal a march on him.” 

Thinking over the question when alone, I saw many other 
ways of saving if the lot of us could work together. Instead 
of buying a ton apiece we might order our coal by the truck 
and get it considerably cheaper. So with our seeds and 
manures. My neighbours admitted the suggestion was good, 
though as yet they have not acted on it. I have avoided 
their ruinous folly in the marketing of my produce. My fruit 
and vegetables I have always handed over to one or other of my 


440 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


neighbours to dispose of along with his own, and have paid 
him a little for his trouble. So far I seem to have had as good 
prices as though I had been my own salesman, and the saving 
in other ways must be equal to a rent. 

Wordie declared it was jealousy that kept my neighbours 
from acting together. He may have been partly right, though 
there was, I believe, another reason. Country folks, those at 
least who have small concerns to manage, lack enterprise and 
are slow to change. This appeared in another matter. In 
and about Craigkenneth, as in all populous districts, there was 
a brisk demand for Spring plants — cabbage, sprouts, and the 
like — and most of these came from other parts of the country. 
I suggested that we should turn some likely plots into small 
nurseries. My neighbours were ready with objections : the 
soil was too deep and loose, the situation too low and exposed, 
the plants would be killed off by frost. Some of their objec- 
tions seemed reasonable, and I resolved to have advice ere 
venturing on the experiment. One day early in July I called 
on my seedsman in Craigkenneth, told him of my scheme and 
the difficulties my neighbours had offered. He laughed, and 
asked if they had ever tried to raise plants. 

No, I told him. 

** Then how do they know whether the place is suitable or 
not ? I may tell you this : there *s a district ” — and he named 
it — “ very like St. Kenneth’s as regards situation and character 
of soil, and whole fields of plants are raised there. The 
growers even bring some capital cauliflower through the winter 
with very little shelter, unless the weather is exceptionally 
severe.” 

I ordered a fair quantity of seed, and the seedsman insisted 
that I should try the cauliflower as well. 

"I'll put up a quarter a pound,” he said. "If it goes. 
I’ll make no charge, so it’ll only be the loss of your labour.” 

This business settled, I was free to attend to another matter 
that had brought me over that day. The water-supply in 
the Orchard had been irregular since the dry weather came in, 
and though I had complained to McEwan and had received 
assurances that things would be put right, nothing had been 
done. When I went into the office, I told my business to 
the manager with whom I usually had to do. 

"You had better see Mr. McEwan himself,” he said, and 
though I wished to leave the message with him he insisted 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


441 


I should wait. In a few minutes he took me across the lobby 
to McEwan’s own room. 

“ Pleased to see you, Mr. Bryce,” said the lawyer cordially; 
and ere I could mention my errand he apologised for the delay 
in repairing the pump, and promised to have the work carried 
through at once. 

I thanked him and rose. 

” Sit down, sit down,” he said. 

I complied, though I could not help glancing at the motto on 
the wall, ” ‘ Speak short, sharp.’ — Shakespeare,” and wonder- 
ing why it had lost its force. He was in no hurry to enlighten 
me ; indeed, the silence was prolonged till it grew awkward. 
At last he said, 

” There was another point I meant to speak to you about, 
Mr. Bryce.” 

The lawyer was an oldish man, middle-sized and rather 
stout, with grey hair and beard. His eyes were small ; indeed, 
he made them so by keeping them always half -shut. He 
spoke through his nose and in a high-pitched tone. 

” I’m not altogether satisfied with the way you’re con- 
ducting things over there.” 

” Indeed ? ” I said, thoroughly surprised. 

” Yes. I must say I’m not satisfied, Mr. Bryce,” he re- 
peated, and shook his head without saying more. 

” I thought the place was in fair order,” I said. 

” I don’t mean that. The orchard may be worked well 
enough and yet other things may be far from satisfactory.” 

He stopped again, and this time, as I had a suspicion of 
what he was coming to, I did not help him out. McEwan 
had a way of cocking his head to the side when about to say 
anything he thought important. It was in this attitude he was 
surveying me now. 

” I’m told you have a Notice up inviting tramps to pass the 
night on the premises.” He stopped for a little before asking, 
” Is that so ? ” 

” Yes,” I admitted. 

” Just so. Well, Mr. Bryce, you must be aware that no 
proprietor will put up with that.” 

” Has the proprietor made any complaint ? ” 

” No ; he has not. Because the proprietor is in British 
Columbia and doesn’t know anything about it yet. And I 
shouldn’t like him to know ; that’s more. But I have the 


442 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


care of the place in his absence, and I don’t consider I should 
be justified in allowing that to go on. It would ruin the 
property — ruin it entirely.” 

” Well, Mr. McEwan,” I represented, ” all I can say is that 
anyone who saw the orchard when I took it and who looked 
at it now would think it considerably improved, instead of 
ruined.” 

” That’s not the point, Mr. Bryce, not the point at all ; ” 
and the lawyer gave his head many a shake. ” You’re making 
the place a lodging-house for tramps, and nobody will occupy 
a property, far less buy it, after it has been used in that way.” 

I said nothing, indeed I had nothing to say, and after a 
pause the lawyer continued : 

” Then there’s the risk of fire. That’s a very serious 
consideration.” 

I told him the precautions I had taken. 

” That’s not the main point, Mr. Bryce,” he said. ” You 
may not be aware that an insurance company won’t pay a 
claim if it’s known that the occupier of the property has allowed 
tramps to stay on the premises at night. So if the Grange 
was burnt down, you would get nothing for the loss of your 
effects.” 

” I’m afraid my effects aren’t insured, at any rate,” I 
laughed. 

” Perhaps not. But the serious thing is, Mr. Bryce, that 
the owner would get nothing if he was known to have allowed 
this to go on.” 

I bethought me of having seen an insurance calendar 
hanging in the outer office. 

” What company is it insured with ? ” I asked. 

He told me. 

” You’re the agent for that, aren’t you ? ” I said, with a 
laugh. ” So that it would depend on yourself whether the 
claim was paid or not.” 

” Eh — not entirely, Mr. Bryce. The company might 
send down an inspector from headquarters, and he would soon 
ascertain how the place had been used. However, that’s 
away from the point. I can’t have this risk incurred either 
by the proprietor or the insurance company, for both of whom 
I am acting.” 

Again I made no rejoinder, and he went on, 

” There’s another thing, too. I’m agent for other proprietors 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


443 

and tenants at St. Kenneth’s, and it’s not fair to them to let 
this continue. It depreciates their property.” 

” Well, Mr. McEwan,” I said, ” I think you might wait till 
they complain themselves.” 

” That’s precisely what I’ve done, Mr. Bryce.” Seeing my 
astonishment, he added, ” Your neighbours have complained, 
and very bitterly, and that’s one reason why I’m bringing up 
the question to-day.” 

My neighbours have complained ! ” 

“ Yes ; and have asked me to take action.” 

” That’s very singular,” I said. ” They have never com- 
plained to me. They have occasionally referred to the matter, 
but never in the way of complaint.” 

” I don’t know that it is so very singular,” said the lawyer, 
with an amused sniff. ” The person most concerned is often 
the last to hear the stories about himself. But I can assure 
you I have had complaints, and not from one of your neigh- 
bours only.” 

I could only repeat that it was very singular, and perhaps 
my neighbours’ double-dealing may have inspired the lawyer 
with some sympathy for me ; at any rate, it was in a tone of 
friendly expostulation that he said, 

“ So you see, Mr. Bryce, that for everybody’s sake your 
plan will be to let the thing drop. Take the Notice down 
quietly, and if any wandering body should still come to the 
place, keep the gates and doors locked, and they’ll soon stop 
coming.” He rose as if the interview was over and the matter 
settled. “ I’ll take it, Mr. Bryce, that you’ll do that, and 
there’ll be nothing more about it.” 

” Probably you don’t know, Mr. McEwan,” I said, keeping 
my seat, ” what made me start this.” 

” I don’t.” 

I told him of the old man who had been found impaled on 
the fence. 

” Well, that was very deplorable,” said the lawyer, who 
had resumed his chair, ” and I think I did notice the accident 
in the papers at the time. But you couldn’t help that, Mr. 
Bryce.” 

” I might have helped it in this way : if the old man had 
known of any place in the neighbourhood where he could have 
had shelter for the night, he wouldn’t have been out there and 
wouldn’t have been killed.” 


444 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


‘*He could have got into a lodging-house for a copper or two.” 

” He hadn’t a ha'penny about him,” I said. 

Well, he could have had shelter at the police station. 
They’d have been bound to take him in.” 

” That may be. But, you see, rather than do that he would 
spend the night outside.” 

” That was his own fault. At all events,” snivelled the 
lawyer, and he moved as if about to leave his chair again, 
” you’re not obliged to provide for such people. Do as I 
suggest, Mr. Bryce ; take down the Notice and stop encourag- 
ing those folks about you, and there’ll be an end of all this 
trouble ; ” and he did rise now, with a decision that told he 
meant to end the dialogue, at any rate. 

I rose too, though I had still something to say. In truth, I 
was not greatly concerned about the issue of our discussion, 
and I was minded to indulge the luxury of plain speaking. 

” Suppose, Mr. McEwan,” I began ” you had a child, a 
daughter, we’ll say, who had left her home and hadn’t been 
heard of for years. She comes back one night, comes back in 
rags, starving, almost dying. Would you shut your door, lock 
your door, against her ? ” 

” That’s a different thing, Mr. Bryce,” said the lawyer, 
frowning, ” a different thing altogether. It’s our duty to 
look after our own.” 

” Would you mind the neighbours’ talk if they complained 
about you taking the wanderer in ? Would you consider 
whether her presence would lower the value of your property ? ” 

He raised a protesting hand, but I went on, 

” Would you bid her go to the workhouse or ask shelter 
at the police station ? Would you even do what I do — leave 
her the stable or the byre to sleep in ? No. You would give 
her the best room in the house, you would let your business 
stand, you would think of nobody else, you would give all 
your time and attention to tending her.” 

” Yes, yes, Mr. Bryce ; that’s all true enough. But there’s 
no similarity between the two cases. Your family’s your 
family. But you can’t treat everybody in that way. It’s 
impossible, it would never do. To treat strangers, utter 
strangers, as if they were your own flesh and blood 1 
Preposterous 1 ” 

” That’s what I don’t see. I have a feeling — which I don’t 
act up to. I’m ashamed to say— but I have the feeling that all 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


445 


men and women should be to us like our brothers and sisters, 
our sons and daughters. Once that feeling has got into a 
man's heart, he can’t drive it out, he must even, to a certain 
extent, live up to it. I only do so in a very poor way, still, 
it's better than nothing. You can stop me, Mr. McEwan ; 
you can turn me out of the place. But so long as I’m in it, so 
long as I have a roof over my head, I must shelter my brothers 
and sisters who haven’t one. It’s not a thing to argue about ; 
I simply can’t help it.” 

I had begun my sermon in a detached, impersonal tone. As 
I proceeded, the thoughts I uttered took a grip of myself, 
and it cost me some work to keep my voice steady. The 
lawyer himself was not comfortable ; his brows were drawn, 
and he avoided looking at me even with his half-shut eyes. 

” That’s all right, Mr. Bryce,” he said, when I was done ; 
” it's quite a good notion to have and I see that you mean well, 
I admit that at once. Still, as things are at present, those 
notions can’t be carried out. I’m thoroughly in favour, of 
course, of helping the poor and doing what one can — reason- 
ably can, for those in distress. But one must allow for cir- 
cumstances ; we must consider the state of society ” — and 
he edged towards the door — ” and — and, in short, Mr. 
Bryce,” he concluded, catching the handle, ” you’ll find it the 
best course for all concerned to stop harbouring people about 
the place and to take down that Notice.” With this he 
opened the door and bade me Good-day. 

The talk kept running in my head as I wandered along the 
street, and I was scarcely sensible of what was around me. 
The sight of Baxter’s window brought me to a stand. I must 
countermand my order ; the likelihood was I should never 
need the plants. For some minutes I stood doubtful. Then 
came the thought : Well, if I don’t need them, somebody else 
will ; so we may let the seeds come and put them in when they 
do come. As always happens with me when a self-forgetful 
resolve is reached, I felt light of heart, and I was about to turn 
away when some one caught me by the arm. It was Meikle- 
john, in company with Jeffray, a Lowis farmer. Jeffray 
nodded, but walked on when he saw that the factor meant to 
stand. 

” Going in to Baxter's, James ? No ? Well, come along to 
the hotel. I was just going along for the trap, but we’ll see 
if they haven’t a snack of something left. I've hardly ” 


446 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


I burst out laughing. “ You think I’m starving myself, 
Mr. Meiklejohn. Do I look as if I didn’t take my food ? ” 

The humorous smile that wrinkled my old friend’s face 
was a confession. 

Oh, well ! But we can go across to lire’s there and have 
a cup of tea. You’re not too high for that.” 

As we sat in the tea-room, talking of old times and old 
friends, he mentioned that Nina’s parents were looking forward 
to her home-coming next month. She had not been home 
since she left for London. 

Meiklejohn then asked in a kindly way how the Orchard was 
looking, and when I only smiled for answer, ” Nothing 
wrong, is there, James ? ” he inquired. 

Glad of the chance to unbosom myself to a friend, I related 
all that had passed in the writer’s office. 

” So you’re to be knocked about again,” said my friend 
when I was finished. “ But, James, listen to me. You’ve 
been at this kind of thing for a twelvemonth now. It was just 
this time last year that you left us.” 

” So it was,” I said. “ I had forgotten that. It’ll be a 
year almost to a day.” 

” Well, James, here’s what I was going to say. Don’t you 
think you’ve given it a long enough trial ? Isn’t it time now 
to settle down ? ” 

” I can’t get settling down,” I remarked with a laugh. 

That’s not what I mean, James. Don’t you think it’s 
time to go back to your old work ? You’ve had your fling ; 
young folks will, some one way, some another. Look at 
Nina. But now that you’ve had it and satisfied yourself, 
it’s time to fall into line again. You surely feel that yourself, 
James.” 

I shook my head. It’s quite impossible.” 

” It’s not impossible, James,” said my old friend, who 
mistook my meaning. ” No doubt you’ve hurt yourself. 
Eh, man ! you had a great chance. But we could mend the 
hole yet. I couldn’t take you back, for the admiral’s set 
against you ; he never mentions your name, and that’s a 
bad sign. But the marchioness is your friend still. I saw 
her in London last week, and she was asking about you ; she 
never misses. And even independently of her or any of them, 

I could get you a good start again, for my word will go a good 
length on many an estate.” 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


447 

I shook my head again and was about to speak, but the 
factor went on, 

“ Now listen to me, James. You’ve had your fling, as I 
said. But you must admit yourself, you’ve got no encourage- 
ment. If you had been likely to set the Thames on fire, if 
you seemed likely to be made a Labour M.P. ” 

“ Stop, stop ! ” I said, putting up my hand. 

“ Plenty are, that haven’t a head like you. But, as I was 
saying, there’s no sign of that ; you’ve made no following, no 
position ; so that there’s evidently no future for you on that 
line. Well, the sensible thing will be to come back to your old 
way of doing.” 

“ Don’t speak of it, Mr. Meiklejohn,” I said. “ It’s all true 
what you say. But it wasn’t to gather a following or gain 
a position that I made the change ” 

“ No ; but even the folks you wanted to help don’t thank 
you. Your very neighbours want you turned out of your bit 
place, according to McEwan.” 

” True. But that has nothing to do with it. When I made 
the change, it was to relieve my own conscience, to get peace 
of mind. And nothing could induce me to go back to my old 
life.” 

“ You’re obstinate, James, as obstinate as ever,” said my 
friend ; but he evidently recognised that further reasoning was 
vain. ” Did McEwan limit you to any time for taking your 
Notice down ? ” he asked after some more talk. 

” No. And even if he does decide to turn me out, he’ll 
surely not do it till Martinmas.” 

” In any case, James, you’ll advise me if you have to shift ? 
I particularly want to Imow.” 

I gave him my promise. 

As I sauntered down to the ferry, in the radiant afternoon, 
reflecting on the past interview, I was called out of my reverie 
by encountering a party of Americans, from a Western State 
of New England, as I found, who stopped me to ask if they were 
right for the abbey. They accompanied me down, talking 
occasionally to me, mostly among themselves. I thought of 
the contrast between us— they flitting over the face of the 
earth, I tethered by the string of love to my little Orchard 
home. Yet watching their thin, nervous, unsatisfied faces 
and looking into my own heart, I felt— but save me from 
spiritual pride !— that the better part was mine. Then I 


448 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


thought of my friend’s words, It was now a year, almost to a 
day, since I had entered on the new life. What had I found ? 
I had been a failure as a reformer. That was what Meiklejohn 
had meant, had almost said. I had not made myself a person 
of consequence, I was not likely to become a Labour M.P. 
Great Powers ! A Labour M.P. ! No. But I could not on 
that account confess myself a failure. It had never been my 
aim to reach such eminence, or any eminence at all. 

I had gathered no following, had won no disciples, no 
converts. Perhaps not. But was I therefore a failure ? That 
could not fairly be said ; for, again, I had never had such aim. 
I had begun speaking, just as I had begun living, because I 
could not help it. The truth had to find utterance through 
me ; that was all I had to care for. Whether it touched others 
was no concern of mine. 

I was to be turned out of my home, it seemed, and as Meikle- 
john had reminded me, at the instigation of my neighbours, 
the people I would fain have helped. Well, even if I were to 
be a homeless wanderer, I should not admit that I had failed. 
Outward conditions were not a test for a case like mine. I 
had done what some have wished to do and have died without 
doing — I had followed the inward guide, I had lived my dream. 
And it was my own heart, and that alone, that could pass 
judgment. Has a man gained everything but happiness ? 
Then he has gained nothing. Has he found happiness, satis- 
faction, peace ? Then, whatever he may seem to have missed, 
he has found all. Tried by this, I was not a failure. 

We had to wait a minute at the ferry. The air was so soft 
and warm, the sky so pure, that even my Western friends 
yielded to the sweet influences, one remarking, " Well, this is 
a day, sure-lie I ” We entered the little boat and I took the 
oars, while the boatman answered the many questions of the 
tourists. A little way down stream a young man in a home- 
built punt was gazing into the radiant depths of the river ; 
he was pearl-fishing, and the boatman had to explain the 
process. I was free to follow my own thoughts. When I 
had pulled a stroke or two and had the boat clear of the jetty, 
old Mitchell’s question, clean forgotten for years, came to 
mind — the talk with Meiklejohn would have brought it back, 
I daresay, though the associations of the ferry and the summer 
season may have had to do with it as well — Would you live 
your life over again ? In a flash and of itself the answer 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


449 


came : Yes ! Gladly ! Without one misgiving ! The 
answer was a surprise and a wondrous joy. And as I walked 
up from the river through the little hamlet that in so short a 
time had grown so familiar and so dear, the chatter of the 
voluble tourists was powerless to check the current of my 
thoughts. I set myself to read the mystery. Why, at a 
time when my prospects were so fair, when, as the old ferry- 
man put it, I seemed likely to reach the highest pinnacle, 
had I recoiled in something like terror from the thought ? 
And now, without a future, and soon to be without a home, 
I welcomed it ! Soon I had the secret. Our present state 
of mind it is that determines our estimate of the past, maybe 
of the present as well. The terror that the question had first 
raised was an involuntary confession of the awful discord 
that then was between my outward life and my true nature. I 
was now at peace with myself, and it was worth while having 
gone through the past to stand where I now stood. 

My serenity of soul did not pass with the hour. It was 
with me in the ensuing days that were lived under the shadow 
of the lawyer’s threat. The prospect of being a homeless 
vagrant had no terrors ; perhaps then, was my thought, I 
should be happier than ever, for there would be nothing false 
in my position — I should be as low as the lowest. With new 
sympathy I could look on the wanderers who came to my 
cottage for shelter. One who stayed with me for a night 
told a story that touched me by its very simplicity. He had 
found himself at Aletown and had wished to cross the river : 
a barque with a cargo of pit-props had been berthed at a 
small port lower down and he hoped to get a job at unloading. 
But he could not raise the threepence to pay the ferry ; so 
he set off for Craigkenneth, where he would cross by the bridge. 
That was a seven-miles’ tramp. He would have to walk as 
far down the south shore ere he found himself at the spot 
from which only a furlong’s distance had parted him at the 
first. Fourteen miles to tramp for want of three coppers ! 
He told the story without complaint, and listening to him I 
seemed to make his feelings my own and to look on the world 
with his eyes. He rested in the cottage for the night, and in 
the morning I took him down to the ferry. The postman had 
just come over from Craigkenneth with the letters. He had 
one for me. It could only be from the lawyer’s office ; yes, 
there was the envelope in the clerk’s schoolboy hand. After 

GG 


450 


THE STORY OF A PLOUGHBOY 


seeing my guest into the boat I tore it open. But I had made 
a mistake. The missive was not from the lawyer ; that it 
was addressed in a clerk’s hand had wrought the confusion. 
This was a letter I had no reason to look for. 

“ Dear Sir, 

'' We enclose herewith draft for £35 14s., being 
royalties on your song * Three Moments,’ and we append a 
statement of sales up to 30th June.” 

The writers were well-known music-publishers in London. 

I stared at the document without taking in the sense. Only 
after a while did my wits return and suggest the truth. Nina 
must have published the song. How she had contrived it 
without needing my consent I could not guess, though I was 
aware that if a woman is bent on a thing she will not be stopped 
by scruples. 

The same forenoon I went over to Craigkenneth to cash the 
cheque ; the money, indeed, was welcome, for my purse was 
near the bottom. From the bank I proceeded to Cowan’s 
music-shop and asked if they could procure me a song ” Three 
Moments,” and I gave the publisher’s name. They had it in 
stock, the youth at the counter mentioned to my surprise, 
and he promptly handed me a copy. I had only time to glance 
it over, but on reaching home I perused it at leisure. “ Dedi- 
cated to Miss Nina Fleming. Three Moments. Words by 
J. B. Music by Emil Lobstein. Sung by the celebrated 
Welsh Tenor, Hugh Wynne.” 

So my poor verses, long forgotten by myself, have reached 
the public ear and have pleased. The credit, I own, must be 
with those three whose names are set down on the printed 
page. Still, it will be another of the odd chances of my lot, 
if my living, or part at least, is to come from a song. 






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